Tolerance
by MalibuSwede
Summary: Beneath the surface of that good-natured banter, is it possible that Pacey Witter and Joey Potter were, in fact, good friends who put on a show of meer tolerance for the others? Some "uncensored", behind the scenes DC moments.
1. Chapter 1: Bragging Rights

**TOLERANCE**

**Part One**

**1. "Bragging Rights"**

I never thought she'd take me seriously. I mean, this is just me: Pacey Witter. I have bragging rights to absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. I made a play without thinking. It was just a game, at first. I didn't…

But she took me seriously—me, Pacey Witter. Her need was as great as my own. Hey, it's a big deal to lose your virginity before you're 16. That's the bragging rights to something. Except that I couldn't say anything, I couldn't tell anyone about it. Because she's my teacher.

That's serious. And now people are trying to make a big deal about it, as if I had had no say in the matter. As if I didn't know what I was doing—which I didn't, but it doesn't matter because I still feel responsible. I seduced _her. _ She tried to push me away and I wouldn't let her. I didn't consider the consequences. She did, but lost sight of them until after we'd already embarked down this treacherous path.

A treacherous path for her, but a fascinating journey for me. She's taught me so much—and not just about sex (though I cannot disregard that one). I've learned an awful lot about things that matter. Need, desire, heart. No one will believe this but we actually had these great talks. Okay, not about world events but we did discuss favorite books and movies. More important, she told me a lot about women: what they think about, the wondrous differences between Venus and Mars…why girls go ballistic when a guy attributes a mood or feeling to their period coming on…why it creeps them out when you don't put the toilet seat down…the importance of little, seemingly meaningless gestures—or rather that little things _do_ mean a lot…the importance of listening, really listening, and being sensitive to what was being said.

Let's face it, what other girl was going to let me get inside her head like that? Not my sisters, certainly not my mother, not Joey Potter—she saves those intimate asides for our mutual best friend. I will always be indebted to Tamara for her candor and bravery in sharing her fears and desires with me. For letting me know what women _really_ want.

When the rumors about our relationship began circulating around school, this high I had been riding on for weeks evaporated into nothingness, and the feeling I'd been enjoying that I could actually be someone important in someone else's life was replaced by a familiar moniker: Pacey Witter, town screw-up. I could live with that, I'd actually learned to live with that, but for Tamara's sake I couldn't accept it. For once, I made that declassification from human to ape status work in someone's favor.

The gossip had compelled Superintendent Stevens into convening an emergency school board meeting, with attendance by Ms. Tamara Jacobs and Mr. Pacey Witter mandatory. I couldn't let her be blamed for my fuck-up. I let the class clown take the fall.

I barged into the meeting before I was invited in, refusing to let Tamara or anyone else speak. I told them about the pathetically inept student who sat in the back of the class daydreaming about "what it would be like to be a little bit better looking, a little more sophisticated and about fifteen years older." I was deliberate in my speech, looking each and every board member in the eye as I spoke. Shouldn't they have questioned the preposterous idea that a woman like that would even consider a schlump like me?

I was glad I had decided not to dress better and look more like the Pacey Witter I had imagined myself to be the last couple of months. "Because then—and only then—could Ms. Jacobs possibly look at me as anything other than just another one of her students," I told them unequivocally. And with my braggart/goofball rep, they believed me; they bought it all. A bit too easily, if you ask me.

"Don't get me wrong," I continued, moving towards the wrap-up. That C+ student certainly had their attention now! "I am flattered with the seriousness that you took these allegations, but you know, personally, I'd just chalked them up to adolescent fantasy…I kind of expected you guys to do the same. Ms. Jacobs," I reiterated, "is my English teacher and, to my great disappointment, absolutely nothing else." Case closed. Town Lothario rep takes a nosedive; screw-up rep safely intact.

Throughout it all, there was only one person who seemed to support me without passing judgment—and I have to admit that I was a bit surprised. Maybe not surprised, when you think about it, because despite the crackling banter, she's been a loyal friend. She actually came looking for me after the story first detonated at school.

"Hey, jailbait," Joey taunted me as she approached. I was in no mood to spar, preferring to dwell on my present unhappiness. "Look…I'm not here to bust on you," she reassured me. "I don't know if the rumors are true or exaggerated or if this is one of your bizarre attempts to appear more attractive to the senior girls, but I just wanted to say I know what you must be going through and…"

"I really doubt you know what I'm going through," I told her with cocky indifference.

She didn't let me get away with that one. "Well, let me see. People stare at you when you walk down the hall, you hear your name in the conversations of strangers and pretty soon a justifiable paranoia sets in." She looked at me and knew that she was connecting. "And whether they are or not, you are convinced that everyone is talking about you. Imagine if you had done something even worse," she said.

"Like what?" That was stupid. As if I had to ask!

"Like sharing a house with your pregnant unwed sister and her black boyfriend while your father serves time on a drug conviction."

I was so concerned about my recent misfortune, I hadn't considered that; Joey actually had more experience in this arena than I did. In addition to our deep-rooted insecurities, Joey Potter and I now had something else in common: providing gossip for our small-minded brethren.

"And, unfortunately for you, you're tonight's top story," she nudged me. She gave me a look that contained so much knowingness and understanding that I couldn't help but cave in.

"Great. So what do I do now?" I asked.

"Same thing I did," she said. "You pray like hell for a better story to come along."

Guess what—WE were the better story, only we didn't know it then. We were too busy learning tolerance.

She kissed me on the cheek. It was a light peck, but I still was surprised. "What was that for?"

"Think of it as a group hug," she said, smiling. "What? Do you expect me to tackle you on this dock and have my way with you? Slacker."

"Ice queen."

"Doofus."

"G.I. Jane."

Suddenly, she took my hand and pulled me up from the bench. "What do you say we go bowling? Take out some aggression on ten goofy pins."

"Bowling," I whined. "Bowling's so uncool. How about mini-golf?"

"Too many traps," she said. "Foosball?"

Foosball, the game of champions. Now there's something I could play and win, especially since Joey wasn't very good at it. "Okay," I agreed. "I'll give you a few points."

"No shooting the balls at me," she insisted. "The balls stay on the table."

"I think I can manage that."

But I wasn't promising anything. I picked up her book bag and followed Joey down the street, letting her walk a bit ahead. Bringing my hand to my cheek I could still feel it tingling, and I smiled. I knew then that everything was going to be okay.

You know what? Don't tell Joey, but I didn't wash that cheek for days.

It was all about tolerance.


	2. Chapter 2: Hero

**2. "Hero"**

Ouch, that hurt! Bessie just dropped a pan in the kitchen and I feel like she hit me over the head instead. She might as well have. My head is pounding and I can't bear to open my eyes more than a sliver. Light. It hurts.

Everything hurts. My teeth, my hands, my stomach… Oh God, I need to get into the bathroom now.

Close call. I wonder if I could keep some aspirin down. I turn on the water and realize I don't think I can even keep that down. Did I really drink that much?

_"Pacey, I know I don't say it enough but you're a really terrific friend."_

Terrific _fiend_ is more like it. I guess I must have had more than I thought. I only remember one, maybe two, before Pacey started taking drinks out of my hand. Wait a minute, he was taking drinks _out_ of my hand—where was Dawson? He was supposed to bring me one before…

That's right. He found Jen, or Jen found him, at that stupid party and suddenly I didn't matter anymore. He left without saying anything, didn't even bring me that drink he promised, and all I wanted to do was take the hurt away…drown it, if I could. Someone kept bringing me drinks, who was that?

_"Alright, Jo. Say good-bye to the nice serial rapist man."_

I was dancing with this weird-looking guy with long blond hair and… Were we dancing or making out? I just remember how bright the sun was and the sand in my shoes and…he touched my boob! But I was laughing and then…

"Jo, are you okay? You've been in there for awhile."

"I'm fine, Bess."

"Do you want to go to church with us?"

"No, thanks. I'm going back to bed."

"Don't forget we need you at The Ice House this afternoon." How could I forget?

But then I seem to be forgetting a lot of things these days. I start walking back toward the couch and have a sudden flash about kissing someone while I was lying there. And what happened to the rest of my clothes anyway? This isn't what I was wearing last night.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"So, Potter, how's it going this bright and shiny day?"

He's being sarcastic, right? I lift my head from my hands, my shield from the disdainful cheeriness surrounding me. All I can do is groan in response; Pacey laughs. I like his laugh, but I would never tell him that. Instead, I give him the eye. "Bite me, Pacey!"

He growls as if he's tempted to do just that. I go to slap his hand, but he flinches and moves away; his knuckles are black and blue, I didn't notice that.

_"Alright, cowboy. Party's over."_

"Did you want to order something or are you going to make yourself totally useless around here?" I ask, sliding off the counter stool.

"Just checkin' in. I thought you might want to catch a flick at the Rialto when you get off."

"I don't know. The last time I went to the movies with you, you ended up with a shiner."

"And that shiner got me a well-earned kiss."

"Don't even think that I'll reciprocate."

"I wouldn't dream of it. The double feature starts at six, can you make it?"

"Double feature?"

"_Jackie Brown_ and _Tomorrow Never Dies._" I make another face. "Ah, come on. You can't turn down James Bond! I'll buy popcorn."

"And sodas?"

"And sodas."

"And…"

"Let's not get too greedy, Potter."

I can't help that sly smile that crosses my lips. Ouch. Even that hurt. "Okay," I respond. He gives me a surprised look and even I'm surprised that I'm not giving him more grief. But, actually, a dark movie theater sounds pretty enticing right now—if I don't like the films I can at least catch a few zzz's.

Pacey nods. "See ya, Potter. Don't be late!"

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Feeling any better?" Dawson asks, plopping down into a corner booth.

"I should be mad at you," I retort. "You deserted me."

"I came back."

"Only after being dumped!"

"Hey! Low blow, Joey."

"Sorry, Dawson. My head's still swimming. I guess I should thank you for saving my life and all."

"Huh?"

"You know, frat boy?"

"No, it was Pacey who clocked him. He saw the guy hanging all over you, looking to score, and he pulled him off. Luckily, the frat guy swung and missed; Pacey didn't."

"Pacey hit him? But I thought…"

"I saw what happened and before I could get there, you fell down. You were totally wasted, Jo! What were you drinking anyway?"

_"Not that I care, but you may want to pace yourself with this stuff."_

"I don't know. I didn't do a taste comparison. What were they serving?"

"Beer and vodka shooters. But Pacey told me he'd seen the frat guy sneaking something extra into your drinks." _Shit. He was watching out for me after all._

"Mind if I ask how we got home?"

"Pacey." _Of course Pacey._

"He borrowed the squad car and we poured you into the back seat—after assuring you that you weren't being taken in, however. By then you were drooling like a basset hound…" _Not an image I care to remember. _ "You passed out muttering something about heroes."

_I thought you were my hero, dumbass. I guess I was wrong._

"Well, thanks anyway for bringing me home and getting me into bed without waking Bessie."

"I deposited you on the couch, but I'm afraid you'll have to thank Pacey again for keeping Alex quiet…because you couldn't stop talking once you hit the cushions. When you finally settled down and we were about to leave, he chastised me for leaving you like that."

"Like what?"

"Well, to be honest, Jo, you smelled like alcohol. Pacey took off your jacket—I guess you spilled something on it—and cleaned you up."

_It's all starting to make sense. He said he'd always be there for me, but when it counted…he wasn't. Pacey was._

Dawson guffaws in that really irritating manner of his. "What?"

"I was just remembering the expression on Pacey's face when you grabbed him and hugged him like you weren't going to let go. You were holding on so tight, he couldn't even move his arms."

_Okay, that's embarrassing. Are my cheeks turning red?_

"Finally, you loosened your grip and passed out for good. By the time we made it out the door, you were already sawing up a storm."

"I don't snore!"

"Joey, you could've laid waste to an entire forest."

"Whatever."

"So Pace was telling me about this _English Patient_ conundrum. What do you think it is that Alex likes about it?"

"It's long and boring and never seems to end. But it has pretty pictures and nice music and lots of sand. It puts him to sleep." It puts _me_ to sleep—personally, if I'm going to error on the side of overblown epics, I'd rather watch _Titanic._

"I brought you something," he says, handing me a gift bag.

"Dawson, you shouldn't have…" I open the bag and retrieve a video copy of _The English Patient_ along with a CD of the soundtrack.

"Got all your bases covered," he says.

Just then, Jen walks by the bayfront window and I can see that, once again, the bosomy blonde has snared his attention. I pretend not to care, but I do.

It's all a matter of what you can tolerate.


	3. Chapter 3: James Bond

**3. "James Bond"**

Pain, they both could tolerate; ignorance, not so much.

Joey still couldn't figure out what had happened to the jacket she'd been wearing on Saturday. It was a birthday present from Bodi, and she was very unhappy about losing it. Dawson was being vaguely mysterious about that one, claiming not to know. "Maybe Pacey knows," he said. Suddenly, 007 and a foxy chick named Jackie Brown were looking very appealing to her.

"Hey there, Lush Life," Pacey said as he watched her coming around the corner.

"Jailbait."

"Ready to go in? Dos boletos," he said, holding up two Victory fingers for the boxoffice attendant to see.

"Where's everyone else?"

"I'm sorry, did you think this was a group activity?"

_"I'm ready for the group hug whenever you are."_

"Well, yeah. Since when do we go to the movies on our own?" she asked as she walked toward the theater door.

"We did as kids," he reminded her.

"When Dawson had chicken pox."

"And measles…"

"And mumps!" she giggled, feeling just a tad guilty for her delight in her best friend's adolescent misfortune.

Pacey handed the tickets to the usher and they went into the theater.

"You got the chicken pox anyway," Joey said as she sat down in the back row.

"I never told anyone this, but I got it intentionally," Pacey confessed, sitting next to her. "I thought it would be a great way to get out of school. Little did I know how itchy those buggers would be."

"And lacking self-restraint you made a total mess of your face, which explains your current disability," she laughed.

"Look who's talking, Miss Chipmunk Cheeks. If I remember correctly, _you_ got the mumps, didn't you?"

"Maybe," she replied, knowing full well that she'd snuck into Dawson's bedroom to have an impromptu movie day. She didn't care if he was contagious; she was lonely and knew he must be, too.

Pacey watched the memory brighten Joey's expression and wondered if he would ever be able to affect someone that way. "Fringe benefits," he said.

"What?"

"You liked being able to demand ice cream for breakfast and get it without protest."

That too, she thought as she tossed a couple of pieces of popcorn at Pacey. He retaliated with a two-handed bombardment. "Pacey!" she squealed.

"Shh!" a movie patron hissed, turning to them and giving both the eye.

"Sorry," Pacey whispered back. "Truce, Potter?" he said, looking over to Joey as she poured jalapeño peppers onto the popcorn.

"Truce," she said, crunching into a pepper-popcorn combo.

He smiled as he watched her hand dip into the popcorn again, and noticed, much to his dismay, a straggling remnant plunge inside her V-neck shirt. It now rested comfortably in her bra with Joey apparently none the wiser. He cleared his throat, suddenly overcome with the desire to retrieve that popcorn, not with his hand but with his lips.

He suppressed desire with chatter, nervously commenting on the onscreen antics of "Bulked-up Remington Steele", as he preferred calling Bond's Pierce Brosnan, and secret agent Wai Lin or "Woo! Michelle Yeoh—you go, girl!"

"Tell me you haven't already figured out the media-as-villain plot," Pacey said, leaning into Joey and inadvertently getting another look at her décolletage. His attention was deflected by the flash of a small white light.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you come with me?" the usher said, indicating a path with his trusty Bic flashlight.

"Busted," Joey smirked.

"Ma'am?"

Pacey grabbed Joey's hand. "Lead the way, kind sir," he said as he chivalrously shuttled Joey out the side exit while the usher continued walking out into the lobby.

"Well, that was a waste of good money!" Joey stated as they scampered down the short alleyway. "I'm glad it wasn't mine."

"A waste? Try knocking off Lois Lane in the first few minutes of that ho-hum adventure!" Pacey complained. "Now that was a waste."

"Eye candy. Didn't need her," Joey retorted. She looked down the darkened street that led to her home. The sun had already set and the old-fashioned street lamps that lit the commercial area were few and far between down that lonely road. "Well, I guess this is an early end to our ground-breaking evening…"

"Wait, Joey! Don't go yet. We could…I don't know…" Why was he fumbling around for words? He searched for a quick answer and found it across the street. "We could go bowling."

Joey arched a brow. "Pace? Is something wrong?" she asked, placing her hand on his forehead. "Because you look hot and…" He squirmed uncomfortably in his oversized hockey shirt. "…you're not talking sense."

He kicked a rock. She offered him her soda. "My brain's still on overload, I don't think I could take the sound of crashing pins," she explained. "We could just…talk, if you want." She sat down on a park bench.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Pacey asked, unable to resist the chance to sit close to her.

Joey couldn't avoid the serious look on his face. "Don't know, didn't feel like sparring," she said. "And…"

He looked up, expectantly.

"I think I owe you one, Pacey. In my drunken stupor I was giving Dawson all the credit for helping me out at that stupid party. But I realized today that it was you. You were the one looking after me…protecting me. That had to be a big deal with Melissa Fine waiting in the wings."

Pacey hid a shit-eating grin from her. "Oh, I almost forgot something," he said, getting up suddenly and walking toward the Capeside patrol car parked haphazardly in front of a fire hydrant.

"Pace, no side trips. And, no, there will be no backseat plundering," she playfully chided him.

"You're getting ahead of yourself there, Potter," he insisted as he unhooked the dry cleaning bag from its hanging position. "I just wanted to give you this back," he said. It was her red jacket. "I had it pressed and cleaned. Didn't want you to have to explain it to big sis."

For a moment, Joey was left speechless. Pacey couldn't believe it, but he even detected a gleam of a tear in her doe-eyes. And then, for the second time in three short weeks, Josephine Potter kissed Pacey Witter on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said simply. "I'm sorry for being such a lug." Now she was the one who was awkward and nervous. She looked down at the pavement. "I guess I don't have much tolerance for frat party beer."

Pacey rested his hand amiably on top of Joey's. "Your tolerance is just fine, Potter," he told her, giving her a knowing wink.

She didn't know why, but she smiled right back.


	4. Chapter 4: Snails, Trails and Drifting B...

**TOLERANCE**

**Part Two**

**4. "Snails, Trails and Drifting Boats"**

"Him?"

"Her?"

Pacey and I couldn't help it. Our roles had been firmly defined: left hook, right undercut. Wham, bam, pow! "And for their next brilliant feat, Pacey Witter and Josephine Potter will—" What? Get along? No way! Crowds flee the tent screaming…the inmates have taken over the asylum.

Psst! _((aside))_ We actually _were_ getting along, but no need to tell anyone that, 'K?

Except this morning. This morning he really pissed me off. We were walking to school and he made some lame joke about Bessie & Bodi's living arrangements. _Major faux pas—_gi-normous demerits.

He did a quick two-step and tried to backtrack, even apologize. But I wouldn't hear any of it and walked ahead, mad. Of course. When wasn't I mad at someone or something? It's like a motivational tool for me.

And Pacey knows that. Huh. Earth-shattering revelation: Dawson doesn't. He takes it all seriously—like we're going to kill each other one day or something. Okay, so I _did_ suggest a knife or a screwdriver late at night while Pacey was in bed…but I was just kidding! I mean, really.

I chuckled to myself and Pacey quickened his step, giving me an anxious look to see if I'd forgiven him yet. Not a chance—not yet! Let him simmer, I was having too much Cruella DeVil fun.

Then Pacey put on his headphones and walked away. _That _pissed me off. Again. Who's in charge here?

"Her?"

"Him?"

Got an A+ in Biology last quarter—the first one Dr. Rand's ever given. Ever. And then I heard Kenny Reiling had an inside track on that stellar achievement this quarter due to a project he did for the American Heart Association. Suddenly, my "first ever" seemed to lose some of its significance.

Guess what? Yep. Pissed off again.

So I asked Dr. Rand about—gulp—the Science Club and other "Potter worthy" scholastic pursuits. He talked about the one marine biology lesson everyone had passed on (scared off, no doubt, by the exotic locale): the reproductive life of _Helix aspersa_ Müller, also known as Gastropoda: Pulmonata or, more commonly, the brown garden snail.

Dawson bailed as a lab partner. Go figure. He was going out on a double date with Jen & Cliff and some girl named Mary Beth—how the hell did she make it into this scenario? Poor girl. Dawson Leery had a one-track mind on the way to Jen ruin, and it looked like I was going to do a solo until Dr. Rand suggested a way I could double my extra credit points. All I had to do was hook up with a student who was struggling for a passing grade.

Guess whom he had in mind? You got it. Mr. _Only Morons Go to Summer School _Witter.

"Him?" I grimaced.

"Her?" he said. "Dr. Rand, I'd like to lodge a formal protest. You never told me I was going to be working with a repressed control freak."

Three, two, one. Anger slowly floating away…dissolving into nothingness…it is a nebulous cloud, a non-entity…Anger doesn't define Joey Potter, it's…

"Yeah, and you never said my grade was going to be dependent on some remedial _under_achiever!"

Back. One hundred-percent. Maybe I should have explained the principles of laissez-faire to Dr. Rand. Don't scientists and historians ever compare notes?

"Sorry about this morning," Pacey said under his breath as we left the room.

"You are _so_ not off the hook yet," I told him. And then I laughed.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"You are going to bury us with your exemplary dedication to higher learning," I snarked, frustrated that my new lab partner was letting me do all the research and note-taking while he just sat there, watching me.

Pacey leaned against the counter. "I'm dedicated to…" he started to say, his eyes scanning down until they settled—I don't even want to know where, "…excellence."

I turned my attention back to the snails. What was that sexy, come-hither look all about anyway? Was he practicing or what?

Maybe that would explain why he made such a stupid blunder. Wanting to "speed things up"—because, of course, attention-deficit afflicted teenage boys can **never **let the natural evolution of things just **happen**—Pacey had attempted to arrange a gastropod ménage-à-trois…which only ended up in gastronomic death and destruction. Escargot for one greedy _Babylonia formosae _a.k.a. the carnivore snail.

His logic had been so warped, so childlike, so…well, Pacey…that it was a struggle for me to give him a proper hard time. Now, instead of waiting at home to hear the news from Dawson's nightmare double date, Pacey Witter and I were on a search and rescue mission in Capeside backwaters. The objective: to find three snails that would "take us to the next level".

Could things get any worse? That wasn't our rowboat I saw slowly drifting out of view. It couldn't have been. Pacey would never make such a "No brain at work inside here" move…would he?

But he did. And after five minutes trudging back in waist-high water, I began to question that assumption. Because every time I faltered, losing my balance and falling deeper into the water, there he was to pull me back up and, quite frankly, it was getting embarrassing. The water was cold—I mean, _real _cold—and I had no control over…you know.

He pretended not to look, but I felt strange anyway. After the time I almost went under completely, he rushed us both through the reeds to the boat landing where his dad's truck was parked. I was friggin' cold, and being both freezing _and_ wet didn't improve my humor any.

Pacey took most of my verbal blows good-naturedly. "You know, it's amazing," he snickered, "a personality like yours and you still can't get any dates."

"Even more amazing, a personality like yours and you can," I retorted.

Guess who went on a date that night? Mr. and Mrs. Personality Plus! You couldn't really call it a date, we were just hanging out at the Barnstable carnival, but he had been so sweet (and charming) when we got back to my house I felt like I owed him.

I'm not sure what flipped his switch, but suddenly we were back to being Secret Pacey & Joey—friends. I confided my reasons for needing to excel at school and he surprised me with heartfelt encouragement. He gave me a glimpse of the future that made me believe I would actually make it out of Capeside and it felt…nice, unexpected but nice.

I almost grabbed his hand. Almost. We were walking around the carnival and Pacey was sharing his unique commentary on the history of traveling shows. The guy obviously wasn't dumb—textbook-challenged, perhaps; not dumb. We were rounding the amusement booths and I went to grab his hand to get his attention…and then I saw Dawson, sitting alone.

Things had obviously not gone well for him and I felt bad, backing away casually from Pacey so as not to give him the wrong impression. Dawson and Pacey went off to have a private conversation and I saw Dawson smile back at me. I couldn't help but melt a little. Maybe he wasn't clueless.

I meant Dawson. But it was Pacey who tried to kiss me that night. Where did that come from? Drifting boats and other disasters aside, I had had a nice time that evening. But it wasn't a date! Just two friends hanging out, right?

Pacey tried to summarize the evening with his lips and I recoiled without even thinking. There was no follow-through on my part. Because there was no attraction—_nada,_ to quote Pace. At least, nothing that I wanted to encourage. Really…

_His lips felt so soft. He angled his mouth, parting his lips as he brushed across mine, his hands resting lightly on my waist._

Definitely not something that should be acknowledged.

_He was so gentle. Not "trawling" at all. _

What would have happened if I had kissed him back? Would that have been so wrong? What would it have felt like? Would it have been the end of the world as we know it? I thought about it a lot once I got inside the house, tracing his kiss on my lips, wondering…

There was a moment there when I hadn't been thinking of anyone else and realized—yes.

I can tolerate Pacey Witter.


	5. Chapter 5: High Falutin' Sails, Daleman ...

**5. "High-Falutin' Sails, Daleman Jails and Errant Dads**

Do you thinking eating a corndog is sexy? I never thought so until I saw Joey Potter eat one. And not for the first time, either. She and I have downed plenty of hotdogs—cornmeal-encased and otherwise—but suddenly at the Barnstable fair, it seemed like something…

New, unexpected. She had aroused me in so many ways that day, it was getting embarrassing. So I responded in the only way any normal heterosexual boy would: I defied the fated storybook scenario and kissed her. Right in front of her porch.

And she responded in the only way a normal Dawson Leery-bonded girl could: she pushed me away. Right in front of her porch.

But then she stayed, lingering there to ask me why I would do such a thing. Like she didn't know how attractive she was. Maybe she doesn't. Dawson has been oblivious to her for so long, maybe she thinks that's the way all boys feel about her. She should hear the talk in the locker room at school!

Or maybe not—that would probably be a left hook to the hot button. Although an angry Joey Potter _is_ damn sexy. Which brings us back to the Kiss…

Hey, no harm no foul, right? At least I know for sure now—from both entities, I might add. Joey Potter is strictly hands-off; she is destined for other, presumably greater things. That is, if and when Dawson ever lets something other than inertia guide him.

Miss Josephine Potter surprised me, though. A couple of weeks later, during rehearsals for the Miss WindJammer Pageant, she sat down with me and gave me a real pep talk. She actually told me she _admired_ me for testing conventions and challenging the Capeside hoi-polloi. Imagine that.

Then she did it again. After my impromptu, thumbing-my-nose-at-the-judges _Braveheart_ routine, she pulled me aside. She had this huge grin on her face—and when Joey Potter smiles, it… You know, she's usually so somber and storm-cloudy. But on the rare occasion when she deigns to smile, she lights up the room. Definitely. At least, any room _I've_ ever been in.

"You have _my_ vote," she said then, giving me a quick hug before she was called back on stage.

I was so proud when they announced that she was First Runner-up. The prize? "A free day of beauty at Betty's Hair Barn." I don't think she'll be collecting on that one anytime soon! As if she needed to. Of course she deserved better, but I know Joey was probably stunned that a Potter had even advanced _that_ far in the contest of bluebloods—scandalous newspaper headlines notwithstanding.

I didn't see her standing on the dock. She told me later that she had gone outside looking for me, and saw me talking with Hannah von Weiding so she left. That's funny. When I went to congratulate _her,_ I found her with Dawson and his mom. I started to hail them, but then Mrs. Leery exited and I saw Dawson holding out his hand to her.

_Ever since the tidepool disaster, her hands have always seemed cold to me. I wonder if they're warmer when they touch him._

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Are they a couple or not? This is driving me crazy. One minute, I was sure our sleeping prince had finally awoken…the next, they're acting the same as always at school.

So confusing.

What seems even more weird is her asking me to drive her to the penitentiary at Daleman, where her father is serving time. I had drifted over to The Ice House—get it? Drifted? Ice?—and Joey was just closing up. I begged for mercy. A cup of coffee, maybe a few scraps from the table…anything to keep me from having to go home to eat.

I just couldn't face another drunken diatribe, another superior monologue about what a scholastically inept, athletically-challenged, underachieving loser I was.

"Tell me something, Jo, you have a habit of being annoyingly honest with me. When was it that I got designated the town loser? I mean, I know I've done some stupid things in my life, but what exactly was it that pushed me over the edge to being a walking, talking embarrassment to my perfect family?"

"You're not an embarrassment to your family, Pacey," she said, and I have to admit that she sounded sincere.

But I knew otherwise. My "perfect" older brother, Doug, had accosted me on the street that very morning, chastising me for the poor reports Pop was getting from teachers at school. As if the cookie-cutter Witter brood had left behind a banner of scholastic achievements to live up to!

"At least your whole family isn't an embarrassment," she added, bringing me back to the real world. That's one thing I've always liked about talking to Joey. We dip and dive from each other's verbal slings, throwing around one-liners like cheap currency, but when we take a moment to have a real conversation, she reminds me how _lucky_ I am—and that's one mean Herculean feat!

Jo had been to see her father in prison, the first time she had seen him since the trial. By her silence I knew that it had been the awkward confrontation she had most feared, with nothing left resolved—not the least of which, what she felt about him.

Mike Potter had been a cool dad to have around, very popular with the kids (and this was before drugs entered the picture). The humiliation of having him taken away in handcuffs was bad enough. But it was followed by weeks of headlines—seedy stories venerable Capesidian society thrived on, including salacious rumors about other women. It was a world Joey and her sister Bess had known nothing about, shielded as they were in grief over their mother. It all culminated in an amazingly quick, week-long trial…and then he was gone.

Joey was devastated. She swore she'd never forgive him, that she'd never forget the unnecessary heartache he had visited on their family. She considered it a betrayal as well as a desertion. She began to doubt whether he had ever really loved them…or certainly loved them enough.

So visiting her father in that prison was a BIG deal, and she admitted she hadn't handled it well.

"Fathers are weird creatures, you know that?" I began telling her about the seminal moment in my personal family history, the moment when I realized how little I was regarded by my own father.

Joey sympathized. "Well, maybe you should have a talk with him, tell him that he hurt you," she said.

"Is that what you did?"

"No," she sighed. "But I'm going to." And with that declaration, she grabbed her lumberjack shirt. "Come on," she said.

Before I knew it, she had convinced me to steal the Witter Wagoneer and drive her the three-hour distance (this wasn't a Greyhound excursion, I know how to make time!) to the Daleman penitentiary.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Penitence," she said to herself in the car. "Why does it feel like I'm the one paying penance?"

"You okay, Jo?"

"Yeah. It's just…weird. Another pilgrimage to some podunk town in Massachusetts I'd never heard of before…" Her voice trailed off. "I still don't know what to say to him."

"How about, why did you do it, Pop? Were you scared? Did we need the money?"

"I don't care why he did it. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make things…right."

"So you tell him what you told me: that he hurt you, that he hurt everyone, but you're okay. That you have people who care about you…love you."

She tossed me a quick glance. A world of vulnerability stabbed me in the gut. "You think I'm okay?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," I assured her.

"I'm too tall…"

"More modeling options for you," I replied.

"Not pretty enough…"

"Are you kidding, Jo? You're drop-dead gorgeous! I know scores of guys who would ask you out in a heartbeat—if they weren't so scared."

"Of what?"

"Well…of being put into their place…of not being able to keep up with you…of not being smart enough."

"I'm not that smart."

"Excuse me? Who did I just partner with on a trek through insect-infested backwaters just to find the perfect snail? What girl does that?"

"My point exactly," she retorted. "What _girl_ does that?"

"So you're not a girly-girl. That doesn't mean you're not attractive to the opposite sex."

"Yeah, right."

"You're a sexy, sultry…distinct original."

"An original, eh?" She looked up with a half-smile, but it was then that I noticed that her eyes were brimming with tears. An ocean, really. I couldn't restrain myself from wiping a stray one from her cheek.

"Yes, you are," I insisted. Suddenly, she took my hand, clasping it in both of hers. She was trembling. I could see the trio of smokestacks off in the distance and immediately understood why. We were approaching Daleman.

After all of that, do you think I was going to let a mere prison guard keep her from confronting her father? I told her I'd slipped him a twenty, but it actually was a little more than that—I'd found Pop's wallet under the seat and took full advantage of it.

Once I saw Mike Potter approach the fence, I went back to the car to give them some privacy. I started to think about what had happened when the news broke about Joey's dad. How parents handled it—or didn't, as the case may be. Most everyone backed away without a word, and I know that must have hurt.

The Leerys were one of the few families who didn't turn their backs on Joey and her sister. In fact, Joey spent more time than ever at their home; it became her refuge—as it was already mine. That's where we saw each other most (and competed most fiercely).

Don't get me wrong: my dad never _forbade_ me to see Joey Potter. That's been one major misconception that I let fester. No, in truth, he told me that it wasn't fair to blame Joey and Bess for the misfortune their father had laid at their feet. There _was_ a brief period when he wondered if Bodi, with his constant traveling between Philadelphia, Boston and Capeside, was involved as well, but once Bodi was cleared Pop never thought twice about it. He believed the newly-reconstituted Potter/Wells family (Wells was Bodi's legal name—though he called it a "slave" name, he preferred Dulaine) to be honest and hard-working.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

The passenger door to the Wagoneer opened and Joey crawled straight into my arms, too overcome to speak. We must have spent fifteen minutes just sitting there, not talking. Another five went by…

"Jo?" I whispered. There was no response. It took me awhile to realize that she had fallen asleep. I started the car and put it into gear, being careful not to wake her.

It took much longer to get home. It didn't matter. _This_ kind of incarceration I could tolerate.


	6. Chapter 6: Too Much Thinking

**6. "Too Much Thinking Can Be a Bad Thing" **

"Jo? Jo?" Joey Potter's dusty brown eyes began to flutter open. As comprehension settled on her, she sat up and shyly moved away from her companion.

"We're home," Pacey said, touching her cheek lightly. Had she really been hugging him for the entire three-hour ride home?

"Sorry, Pace. I…"

Pacey Witter smiled. "You have nothing to apologize for, Jo. You were wiped out and I wanted to get us home before Pops charged me with grand theft auto."

"I…"

"Though I must say your snoring lacked both the rhythm and harmony required to sync with my favorite FM playlists."

"I do not snore!"

"Jo, I could do a research paper on the epidemiology of your 'not snoring' snoring."

"Nice, Pacey, nice."

Pacey grinned back at her as the Witter wagoneer rolled to a stop. The car suddenly became silent.

"So I…"

"I…I guess I should…go," he agreed.

She leaned back into him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Thanks, Pace," she said. "Thanks for everything."

"You're…" he started to say as she exited the car, closing the door before she heard "…welcome."

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

_On the lips,_ Pacey thought. _ Joey Potter just kissed me on the lips. _

Was that an accident? Did it mean anything? Probably not, he reconsidered. This was Josephine Potter, right? They were friends, but of a decidedly non-quixotic sort. Definitely not romantic. It was Don Quixote, the romantic doofus chasing windmills she was interested in, not Sancho Panza, his burro-bonded bud. Right?

Right?

Just thinking about it made his head hurt. And after the semi-awake dream he'd just had, chances were he wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon. It was an adrenaline-infused daydream: he and Joey and Dawson were playing games on the beach, with a mysterious blonde flirting in the background. They were carefree kids having a little innocent fun until Blondie distracted the D-man, and Pacey began horsing around with Joey, provocatively simulating a merry-go-round ride as their bodies went up and down against one of the pier posts.

They were laughing and smiling…a lot. Inspired by the gleam of her smile, Pacey comically declared his "like" for Joey, falling backwards into the sand as her smile morphed into something luminescent, her eyes all knowing.

"It was the end of everything simple and the beginning of everything else," he heard someone say. The funny thing was, the 'who' of it didn't even disturb him; it was the 'why'…the 'what does it all mean?'

Eyes wide open now, Pacey fidgeted and threw off the covers. This was getting him nowhere—least of all, forty nods and more than a promise of sleep. Of course, he grumbled, the sun blasting through his window didn't help. In a moment of parental concern, his mother had seen fit to take away the shade, hoping that if he couldn't block out the light he'd be less inclined to oversleep and miss school. He was working on that.

Back in the family room, his father was watching a football game while his mom dusted around him, dodging insults in between commercials. Pacey grabbed his jacket and went out.

"Joey?"

Pacey couldn't believe his eyes. The cause of his most recent hormone-induced bedcover thrashing was sitting on a park bench not far away, discreetly brushing away tears from dark, troubled eyes. Pacey sat down next to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she sniffled, keeping her head down.

"I just thought you'd have the hideaway pulled out by now, racking up some major zzz's."

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly.

"Neither could I," he admitted.

Joey looked up and Pacey's heart melted seeing the wounded look that had returned to her eyes. He smiled compassionately, gently wiping a reticent tear from her cheek, waiting for her to speak.

She began hesitantly. "I just…I just got revved up thinking about things. Brain overload. What happened when we went back to Daleman, you know. What I was able to finally tell my dad…everything…and I wanted to tell Dawson…" Her attention drifted off and she looked away. "I wanted to be honest with him."

"And you weren't."

"I didn't get a chance. He was sleeping with Jen."

"What?"

The emotion spilled out and Pacey did the only natural thing, pulling Joey into his chest and comforting her with a reassuring hug. "They were kissing!" she blubbered.

"Bastard," Pacey said under his breath.

"How can he do this to me?" she asked rhetorically, her anger increasing with every word. "He said on the trip he was still trying to figure things out. Is this the answer? He doesn't want me to go but he wants someone else in his bed?"

"To be honest, Jo, I don't think Dawson knows what he wants," Pacey said as he rubbed her shoulder.

"Except on film," she exclaimed, pulling away from him. "So in the movies, I'm the one who gets gruesomely beheaded while the Wonder Bra newbie walks in, solves the mystery and steals all the attention."

"That would be the fiction."

"No, that's fact, Pacey. I'm the third wheel, the buddy not the lover…the one," she said as tears threatened to come on again, "the one who's always slightly out of place."

"Whom Dawson can't live without."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really, Jo. Can I be brutally frank here?"

"Is this something I want to hear?" she said, looking expectantly into his eyes.

"Maybe. At the risk of my own fragile ego."

"Okay. Who am I to resist slaying the dragon? You've got me curious."

"That night at the fair? I…um…asked Dawson if I could kiss you."

"You did?" she said, surprised.

"Yes. I wanted to make sure I wasn't treading on forbidden ground."

"Didn't you think I should have a say in that?" she huffed.

"Of course. But I knew Dawson was confused and I wanted to make sure it wasn't about you."

"So?"

"He said he was okay with it."

"Sonofabitch," she mumbled.

"No, he said okay…then took it back…then changed his mind again…"

"He did?"

"So I thought it was okay to kiss you."

"It wasn't bad," Joey nudged him, a small smile creeping across her face.

"Thanks. But this is the thing: he took it back again."

"Huh?"

"Later that night, I had to close at Screen Play Videos and Mr. Perfect Male Specimen came barging in, telling me in no uncertain terms that he had changed his mind and didn't want me to kiss you."

Joey said nothing, relaxing her posture on the bench before sitting up again. "So why was _she_ there?"

"I don't know. You need to ask him that. It might not be what you think."

"Another vain attempt to nail the blonde 'ho from next door?" she smirked. She squinted her eyes, which only made her look angrier when in fact she was deep in thought. "But…nothing much could have gone on, could it? They were both fully dressed."

"See? It was a Richie Cunningham PG-rated scene," Pacey affirmed, shaking her affectionately by her shoulders. "You're something sacred to him, Joey. He's just too straight-laced scared to admit it."

Joey turned away. "So am I," she whispered.

"So be honest with him. You have to, Jo—it's time."

Neither one moved for a moment, unsure about how to deal with the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"Do you wanna…" they said at the same time.

Pacey completed his question first. "Annihilate some pins?" he said.

"Take a walk?" she continued. "What?"

"Huh? I thought we could hide out in the bowling alley. It's nice and dark there this time of day."

"Come to think of it, I'm kinda tired now Pacey."

"Oh."

"Can I take a raincheck? I mean…Thanks for asking and everything…but I don't think I could even hold a 10 lb bowling ball for that long."

"And you hold those toes so dear you don't want to take the risk?"

Joey chuckled. "Something like that."

"How about a DQ bar before you hit the hay?"

"Pacey."

"Milkshake?"

Joey paused in thought. "I _am_ kinda hungry," she admitted. "I missed breakfast."

"Mom's making pigs in a blanket if you wanna come over."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, she will if you want."

"Okay," she said, getting up from the bench. "It's a deal."

"We can go around through the kitchen, miss the Sunday morning quarterback sideshow."

" 'K. Pacey?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You are most definitely welcome, Ms. Potter," he said as her led her into the house.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Joey fell asleep in his closet. She hadn't meant to. She just wanted to talk. But Gale said she hadn't seen her son all day and Joey was too tired to look for him. So she hid out, hoping to find courage in the past to confront her future with Dawson Leery. Her mind was spinning with everything Pacey had told her and she was more confused than ever. What did it all mean? Did Dawson love her or not? Did he simply respect her as a friend or did she dare think it might be something more…something honest and true?

She thought back to when they'd first met, how they had bonded instantly; he became her golden hero almost from the moment she saw him. She never told him that, never told him how her mother had built him up or when the friendship had evolved into something more for her. She didn't even remember the whys and wherefores now, except that it probably had something to do with how he was there for her after her mother passed on. She could have just as easily disappeared into nothingness, but he wouldn't let her. He kept coming back to talk, inviting her over for more than the usual Friday night sleepovers, asking her opinions on movies they had seen together, scripts he wanted to write.

She couldn't imagine her life without him—or with him if he didn't want her. The more she thought about the possibility of rejection, the more her anger began to rise again. She played scenarios around in her head until she was too exhausted to think about it anymore.

"Joey! God, I've been looking all over for you!" Dawson exclaimed when he opened his closet door and found the girl he'd been searching for all day sitting on the floor. Joey got up, determined, walking out of the past into the glare of her Leery present.

"Look, there's nothing going on between Jen and me," he tried to assure her. "What you saw today was completely innocent."

She didn't want to hear it, she'd had enough. "Why do you feel the need to explain?" she asked, her irritation betraying her. "We're just friends. That's all."

"Joey, c'mon. You know that's not true."

She threw her hands up into the air. "So what are we, Dawson?" she demanded, threading her hands through her shoulder-length hair as she walked away from him. She was going to tell him the truth, even if it hurt.

"I am so tired of the way we relate to one another. We spend all of our time analyzing our sad little adolescent lives…but it doesn't get us anywhere. It doesn't move us forward. We're in the same place we were three months ago. It's time to grow up, Dawson."

He closed the distance between them. "I know, Joey. We can. We are growing up."

"No, we're not," she insisted.

Dawson could argue till the cows came home about proper Spielbergian analogies, but the bitter, cynical truth was that their adolescent perception was sorely lacking—in maturity, despite their clever analysis, as well as honesty. She was convinced that their impressive vocabularies had only succeeded in allowing them to artfully dance around the truth.

"And the reason I came here tonight," she said, "is because we need to move on. Look, we're not kids anymore, and I'm not going to do this

anymore. And I thought you should know."

She thought back to what Pacey had told her earlier in the day. "Dawson…I just want to be honest with you. "

"Me, too. Jo, more than anything, I just want to be honest."

She cautiously let down her guard, testing him, searching his eyes with heartbreaking vulnerability. "Do you think we're ready for that honesty?" she asked, her voice unsteady and full of emotion.

"Yeah, I do."

Gaining confidence, Joey pushed further, still questioning whether or not Dawson understood the full ramifications of such a simple but important concept: honesty between two people.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Because honesty is a big word and…it changes things, and it complicates things and…" She searched his eyes once again. "Are you sure you're ready for all the things that come along with telling the truth?"

For the first time, Dawson hesitated and Joey was taken aback. She had allowed herself a smidgeon of hope and he had disappointed her, already. She sighed meaningfully, dropping her head in despair.

"I'll see ya, Dawson," she said in a heavy whisper as she turned away, moving toward the window.

"Joey! Joey!" he pleaded. Did he really know what he wanted?

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

I did the right thing, Pacey told himself as he tumbled about in fitful sleep. Joey obviously wanted Dawson and he had helped her to find a way to talk to him—just like her dad. It was the right thing to do.

He was sure. Almost.

Not knowing what was going on was the hard part. It had been nearly two days and he hadn't seen either of them since then. What a horrible, obnoxious, evil, twisted thing…that phone was ringing in his ear.

"Hey, Pace. Gotta minute?" Dawson was sounding much too bright and cheerful.

Pacey rubbed his eyes. "Sure, D, what's up?"

"Can you meet me at the barbershop in a half hour?"

"A trim? You want a haircut before school?"

"Well, it is a late day today and…"

"Never mind," Pacey cut him off, "I'll meet you there."


	7. Chapter 7: Andie & Jack & What I Want

**TOLERANCE  
Part Three**

**7. "Andie & Jack and What I'm Going to Want"**

"It was just the sweetest, most romantic, Fourth of July fireworks, waves crashing on the shore, beyond any movie I could ever imagine…kiss," he says.

I'm going to be nauseous. But instead I say, "Congratulations, Dawson. I'm happy for you." Yet I can't help taunting him—this guy needs a serious reality check. "So…are you going to do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know, the rockin' rhumba. The salsa in the sheets. The Leery-Potter booty…"

"Don't even go there, Pacey. I will torpedo this conversation right now."

"Alright," I concede. "So what's next? After you kiss somebody things change. Questions arise."

"What questions?"

Oh my God, this guy is thick! Am I going to have to bring out the ET doll to demonstrate?

My mind totally numb, I elect to get my tips frosted instead. Ladies and gentlemen: meet the _new_ Pacey Witter, Capeside's sexy man about town! I think I look totally Nicolas Cage and ready for action, but when I get to the scholastic stomping ground, this new girl, Andie, assures me the look is pure dweeb a la Anthony Michael Hall.

Geez, this girl is irritating. First, blondie crashes into the patrol car assigned to our domicile—which is gonna be one helluva conversation with Deputy Doug later today (in a rare moment of generosity, he actually loaned me his car so I could meet up with D-man)—then she hyperventilates and has the nerve to call me scum in front of _my_ brethren. She didn't buy the P.J. Witter, badass undercover cop routine.

Still, after all that, she offered to set me up on a date with my fantasy girl, Kristy Livingstone, so I think maybe, just maybe she isn't so bad after all…

Not!

I was "set up" all right. The peace offering turned out to be a cruel joke. Mañana, I'm sure, half the senior chicks will be guffawing in Capeside HS halls; the other half will be looking with droopy eyes at this pathetic sophomore, convinced I am afflicted by the mysterious spectre of a fatal heart stripe. That's some creative revenge, I'll have to give Andie McPhee that.

To avoid the couples exiting the Rialto movie emporium across the street, I decide to wait out my humiliation in the park. Maybe somebody'll mug me or something and end my misery. Just when I think things can't get any worse, however, it does.

Sighting at two o'clock: Dawson & Joey walking hand in hand, sitting on the swings and making goo-goo eyes at each other. Okay, guys, we get the metaphor: young teen couple innocently saying goodbye to their co-dependent childhood as they cross the bridge into co-dependent maturity.

_Why am I even looking?_

_Mailer-daemon: message undelivered. Error -16._

This is the thing I don't get: _she_ seems to be doing most of the work. Why? Is Dawson capable of initiating anything? That first kiss was _hot_…and he's like this vapid receptacle, barely responding. Does he even see her—or _feel_ her?

If I were that dude, I would never be just "making out" with Joey Potter. Even from here, I can see that she's ready for more and he's chatting away like…well, maybe he's nervous.

She pounces again.

_Why am I even looking?_

_Brief synapse failure._

She _is_ good—has she been practicing or does this heretofore unrealized sensuality come naturally to her? And why did I never really see it before? I mean, I did but…not like this. Definitely not like this. Maybe that's why Dawson's not moving: he passed out. Can't blame the guy there.

Finally, regrettably, I have my answer. Dawson Leery is the guy Joey Potter is meant to be with.

_Why am I…_

Wait a minute, there's someone else lurking in the creekside shadows. I spot Jen Lindley off to the right, clearly ready to charge…in her own unbalanced fashion. I catch her before she blows an adolescent gasket.

"Easy there, Lindley."

She may be pint-sized, but man she's strong! I wrap my arms around her tiny waist. "Pashey!" she exclaims, flailing her arms in no coordinated direction. "Wha…What are you dewwwww…ing here?"

"Shore patrol duty, ma'am" I joke. "My turn to roust delinquent sailors from the park."

"Couldnnn't you r-r-r-roust them out of the schwings insss-tead?" she spits, slurring every other word and nearly tipping over as she points in our young couple's direction.

"We need to get you home, little Miss, before Grams declares you AWOL," I say, indicating my concern.

"Gos-s-s-sh, golly. Do you th-inkk…" She stops for a minute, almost as if she's forgotten what she was going to say. "Do you th-ink she'll notice?" she says, beginning to sober up. I draw her back to me, reassuring. "Dawsonsss got a new girl…a new girl-ffriend, Pacey."

"I know," I chime in. Boy, do I know it! This one may even stick, I think to myself—but I can't tell Jen that. The poor girl has tears in her eyes now.

"She's be-yootiful and 'telligent and…"

"Dawson is one lucky dog," I commiserate, musing silently that he better treat Joey right. Even former gal pals with massive pre-teen crushes need to feel understood—_especially_ former gal pals with massive pre-teen crushes, in fact.

Changing the subject might be a good idea if either of us hopes to find our way out of this conundrum. "When did you get your hair cut, Lindley?" I ask as I start leading Jen home. I can't help taking one last look back. When someone's not interested in you, you move on…even if you can't help looking back.

Be happy for them, I tell myself. You can tolerate that, can't you?

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Dawson & Joey have disappeared and all I can think of is that I need to find a girl of my own. Genius. The cold harsh truth is that the Three Capeside Musketeers are officially a thing of the past, too recently departed to even qualify as nostalgia.

Must focus.

Welcome back to the Real World of Pacey Witter!

First on this year's schedule: the heartwarming, anticipatory anxiety surrounding a certain milestone event: the occasion of my first legitimate, state-certified shot at getting my Massachusetts driver's license. Denying any possibility of failure, Dawson and I—before the dude's mind was cluttered with the possibility of Potter nookie—planned a celebratory drive to Maine and back. I'm betting he doesn't remember.

Bitter sarcasm is, once again, my friend and I win the bet. Back at school, temporarily unhitched from his new girl, Dawson doesn't show the slightest clue that he knows why I'm so pissed. And why should he? Aside from the disappointment in regards to our best buddy pact, there is something else heavy on my mind. Something I found out from that psycho matchmaker Andie McPhee aka the blonde Evil Knievel. You remember her: she of the "Officer Pacey, please don't take me to jail because I don't know what I'd tell Daddy" routine.

But I digress. Anyway, I ran into her later and found out that Joey had passed on a chance to go to France and study so that she could stay in Capeside with Dawson. How could he let her do that? When is someone like Joey Potter ever going to get another friggin' opportunity like that again? The money had already been raised, all she had to do is get a friggin' passport! And Dawson just accepted her walking away from it like it was his God-given right? How friggin' self-involved can you be?

Chill out, dude. Be cool.

I don't understand. The friggin' Dawson universe is contracting to an insular party of two and it makes my blood boil. This morning, Jen found me sulking and suggested a spiritual change of course: complete and utter Dawson & Joey denial. Why not throw _myself_ a party to get out of this funk I'm in? Of course, there is always gnawing self doubt. Suppose I threw a party and no one friggin' came? Or, worse, everybody showed—but failed to acknowledge the friggin' birthday boy host?

Not an uncommon occurrence in Witter World, unfortunately.

So, you see, it was destined to be a Pity Party before it even started. Further proof on Friday night is evidenced when my friend and colleague Jen Lindley gets so drunk we have to send her home with Abby Morgan so both can sleep it off.

Surprise! Guess who not only showed up but was the sole attendee, non-invited though she was, to bring along a _wrapped_ gift? Miss Andie "I Wouldn't Be So Annoying If I Weren't So Perky" McPhee! Okay, so the present was a Magic 8 ball she was going to give her brother last Christmas (and forgot), but without realizing it she gave me an even better gift: recognition. Newbies have blind courage and this one not only can spell etiquette, she practices it to a double-T and E.

To her, I'm not Pacey Witter, the guy who can't even throw himself a decent b'day party or Pacey Witter, the guy who's failing biology—again. I'm just Pacey Witter, the guy who's still trying to figure it out.

"Daddy's Little Trust Fund" gets me better than most of my friends. Maybe I should return the favor and stop putting easy labels on her. Did I tell you she has a hot bod? She hides behind schoolgirl clothes, but underneath she is perfectly proportioned.

Check it out the next time you see her walking down the hall!

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Damn. How can she do this so effortlessly? Mix me up, I mean.

Dawson and I kissed and made up (I mean that metaphorically, of course) and when I get home after a brief excursion into parts unknown—on one tank of gas—Mom says "she" left something for me on the hutch. She? Joey Potter, the Uncertain Mistress of Decidedly Mixed Messages.

Greedy for material possession over faux-sincere message, I open the CD package first. The wrapping matches the homemade card accompanying it; though I am tempted to tear it, out of respect to the giver I do not, carefully unwrapping the package from seam to seam. It's a copy of Joey's favorite rock album: U2's _Achtung Baby—_one of the few things Joey and I have agreed on musically.

"Since Gretchen spirited away your CD's (also known as HER music collection) when she left for college, I thought I would offer this as a partial replacement for that which has been lost. Be aware: we're in harmony now, Pacey," Joey wrote in her note. "Happy 16th. Hope you had a blast!"

Did I mention that I'm confused?

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

"You're left-handed."

"What?"

"I didn't notice that before," Andie says, sitting beside me in our first class of the day. "You write with your left hand."

"So?"

"My nana used to tell me that when she was growing up, they would swat kids on the knuckles for writing with their left hands—or worse even."

"That explains a lot."

"Yeah. But they grew up in time that were all about conformity, not standing out."

"Being right-handed," I add. "And things are so different now?"

"Well, yes. I think we prize individuality more now, don't you? In fact," she says, lowering her voice rather suggestively, "some people think that left-handed people are more in touch with their creative side. I'm a bit jealous, actually."

Now she's piqued my interest. "Really…" I volley back playfully.

"Yes," she says without a hint of embarrassment. "I think it's sexy."

Okay, now I _know_ she's pulling my leg. I give her my best sarcastic look and she blushes slightly. Could I be wrong?

I don't know when we crossed the line from irritation to camaraderie, but suddenly—and without questioning it—the two of us are hanging out together. A lot. Much more than this stupid paper for Econ would demand.

Hmmm…

Don't get me wrong, the girl can still get on my last nerve—with deft precision, I might add. She rattles my nerves more than anyone since…well, I guess since Joey Potter and I matched as sparring partners. I miss that; I miss pushing Potter's buttons. That was more fun than I could admit at the time.

On the McPhee side, I'm still having trouble with the Rhode Island Elite thing. The high-strung McPhees are from Providence and Andie has all the accoutrement of a privileged upbringing—or did until she ended up at Capeside High. There are private schools not too far away, I wonder why she and her brother Jack ended up at CHS. So far, I don't have a clue…except that Miss McPhee is against Camarros and Dodge Vipers. A moral dilemma about gas guzzlers? I don't think so.

Jack's the bro. Nice guy. Likes Vipers. A bit of a loner, though, very private. Sensitive. A good listener. Joey's the only one I've seen get him to talk. She says he's clumsy as hell but she gets a kick out of him. He's into that beatnik art thing and she likes that, too.

Feeling betwixt and between, as Tamara might say… Oh, yeah. Tamara (Miss) Jacobs showed up in town last week, and that surprise appearance sent me reeling, Tasmanian Devil-style. Andie and I ran into her walking around Broad Street and the contrast was instantly apparent. Andie: silly, flighty, girl. Tamara: mature woman, a seductress. Naturally, I was drawn to the woman, aching to touch her again and restore that physical connection…and communication.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Wow. Chemistry. It's still there, but somehow strangely different as well. Like our minds have moved on even if our bodies haven't. There are no words. Tamara calls it "our Pinter moment", but I think for once Dawson Leery was right. Tamara Jacobs isn't what I want or need anymore; I should be with the girl.

In a rare moment of Pacey-thinking-clearly, I ask Andie McPhee out on a date and she says yes, chatting away about meeting places as the nerves apparently get to her. Neither one of us have been eager to reenact a scene from _Meet the Parents,_ but I figure I owe Ms. McPhee that much—a measure of the respect she showed me a few weeks ago at that birthday blowout.

"Let me get this straight. You and Andie are dating?" Joey says, a quizzical expression alighting her face as she leans across the counter toward me.

"Not officially. Just hangin' out. Maybe catch a flick in Chatham."

"That sounds like an adventure," she laughs as she wipes the countertop. Gotcha. That girl just loves to give me a hard time. She and Andie should get together and… Wait a minute. Maybe they already did!

"How's it going with you and D-man?" I ask, artfully changing the subject to _her_ discomfort zone.

"Great," she replies, somewhat dreamily drifting off. "He's just…"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it."

"No. I mean…I think we're still adjusting to our ever-evolving…friendship."

"Friendship?"

"Yes, we _are_ friends."

"Joey, you're more than friends."

"We'll always be friends, first and foremost. Just like you and me, Pacey."

Something about that doesn't sound right, but I'm too chicken to challenge it. Joey will say something—or not—in her own time. She's always lived in a world of secrets. And fantasies, but I can't begrudge her that. It seems like such a small reward for all she's been through.

A world in which her mom's death was valued more than her life.

A world in which her dad thought drug trafficking could save a family from dissolution.

A world in which high school had been a dead end for her sister—and she was beginning to fear the same for herself.

A world in which the only ray of sunshine seemed to be her first-mate status on Capt. Leery's Good Ship Lollipop—or to be more proper, speaking in Dawson's cinematic vernacular, the Orca, Robert Shaw's boat in _Jaws._

Even at the Miss WindJammer Pageant I could see that Dawson's light bulb moment would finally give Joey the opportunity to try on a dream to see if it fit. Now the dream has become her reality and, to be fair, every time I run into them together they make it clear that this romantic bubble they're in is indeed "real".

They are unbelievably mushy together as Dawson parades her around. No longer our tomboy buddy, Joey even dresses the part of girlfriend. But I hear from Jen (and even once from Jack McPhee, of all people) that there have been some arguments. I'm beginning to wonder who's really in control here.

"I don't get it, Jen," I 'fess up. "I always thought this was about **her** feeling frustrated and **him** being clueless."

"Maybe it still is," she enlightens me. "Maybe she still feels misunderstood…"

"…and Dawson, being Leery, is still clueless. The guy is single-handedly making me lose my faith in the masculine sex."

"They'll probably work it out."

"Ah. Said like a true sportsman."

"Screw you, Pacey," she laughs, nudging me with her elbow. I make a comic face, but she gets serious. "They always seem to, anyway. Joey doesn't even suspect the hold she has on that boy."

But I do. It's all part of my Sophomore Tolerance Test. That is, until I found out about Andie McPhee's schoolgirl crush. She too tried to hide behind barriers. But I've been lucky in that Andie's invited me in. Much to my dismay, I found out how much I underestimated her. She's a mass of contradictions, that McPhee: smart but goofy, confident in her work but insecure everywhere else, innocent with a soupçon of worldliness, eccentric but still searching for an anchor of normalcy in her life. Whatever that is.

Andie has allowed me to see the dysfunctional mess that is her own family situation, and for once I feel like I can do something to help. I can offer her comfort…a shoulder to cry on…a sympathetic ear and a place to vent. That doesn't sound very manly, but it's actually kinda cool: offering comfort. Maybe I can even teach her to focus more on herself and have some fun.

I would like that.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Mr.Petersen  
4th Period English

**TOLeRnZ Rap**

Does Pacey have rapport  
Does Pacey have a rap  
Does Pacey give as good as gets  
Does Pacey stand a chance

Hey, tolerance  
Say, what?  
Say, tolerance  
That hurt

I seen those gals and gotta tell ya  
They're nice and cute but mess a fella  
They need, they bleed, they cry and cheer  
Stop love, give love, let's hear it all next year

Say, tolerance  
That hurt  
Hey, tolerance  
Peace out!

**zzz**

Incomplete, unfinished and pathetically puerile

** F**


	8. Chapter 8: Joey Has Questions

**8. "The One Where Joey Has Questions and Dawson Throws a Fit"**

" _Dawson…what are we doing?" _

"_What does it look like we're doing?" _

"_It's just not working. I mean, it's freezing and there's bugs. Can't we go somewhere else?" _

"_Well, we can't go to my house, we can't go to your house. Our options are kind of limited." _

"_I know but I just feel too Swiss Family Robinson. I mean, I'm a 20__th__ century girl. In order to make-out I need some music, some mood lighting and some climate control."_

"_Where's your sense of romance? We've got gorgeous moonlight shimmering on the water. We've got stars overhead, crickets chirping. We've got wind in the trees…and if you get cold, you've got me to keep you warm." _

"_Dawson..." _

"_What?" _

"_You are so cheesy." _

"_You don't like it?" _

"_Are you kidding? I find it unbearably sexy."_

**zzz**

Cue "Happy Ending" music. Cut. Print. Wrap.

If only life were that easy.

Sometimes I wonder if Andie McPhee hadn't walked into the diner that blue moon eve, would that spooky old geezer have left sooner? Did her ramblings about missed cues, combined with our complete ineptitude concerning electric pumps and crustacean preservation, inspire him to take pity on us and enlighten Jack and I about how to reset the system? Conversely, if I had been more grateful and decidedly less sarcastic, would he still have left that extravagant tip—which prompted me to hug the closest warm body?

Ahem. Sorry, something got caught in my throat. Would Jack have kissed me then—thus confusing me further about what I really wanted?

I thought Dawson was what I wanted. And needed. He was my morning smile. But something's been holding me back from allowing us to progress this relationship (like the adults we _aren't_) and I can't figure out what. Or why.

Why isn't Dawson enough?

I know it has nothing to do with our differing tastes in Art. Maybe it was that fight we had about him trying to "direct" our relationship (with more appropriate mood lighting and climate control). Or the makeup session that followed where it got so heated I got scared—and, for once, he didn't know what to do. He was scared, too.

Is it about sex? I'm still not sure about how to handle that one. I love all the things leading up to "the moment"…and then I just freeze. Why? It's like my body suddenly realizes this is the guy I used to catch tadpoles with (oh, wait a minute, that was Pacey)…chase butterflies with (oops, Pacey again)…**watch movies **and hide in the closet with. My friend and confidante and now, what, lover? Am I even allowed to say that? Some people would probably disagree with this, but in my world that's a recipe for certain disaster…and I don't want to lose him. Ever.

I love him.

So I kissed someone else and told Dawson he was what I was _going_ to want—later. I don't even know what I meant by that. What does it mean when you anticipate wanting and being together in a more perfect world—and yet not in the world in which we live? And finally how did **I** become the one who couldn't sustain this relationship?

Why are there still so many stupid questions?

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

I've decided to take a breather from this torrid tale of woe and just be "me" again. Joey Potter: the girl who didn't go to France. Deconstruct that!

Strangely enough, after an unhappy, tear-filled weekend I have become amazingly focused. Apart from getting out of Capeside, I've never really known what I wanted. Am I supposed to at 15? I think I still need time to figure it out. There are too many variables, too many things stirring inside of me to take my confusion out on others.

I know I've been unfair to Dawson, who really did try to understand and I couldn't allow him even that much. I've jeopardized the friendship as well as our relationship. I wanted to share my feelings about that with him, but at school on Monday he could barely stand to look at me. Being my usual blinders-on self, I didn't figure on that. I guess I knew he'd be hurt—but not more than me! Now we're both asking each other for time and it's almost comical.

For added fun, Andie McPhee has arranged an impromptu all-night study session after Mr. Petersen's after-school torture session was cancelled due to illness (his, of course). The Abominator (TM Pacey J. Witter) will have to seek his pleasure when we try to find meaning in his convoluted essay questions for that English midterm.

Of course, Pacey is nowhere to be found as Andie gathers the troops; that is, he _was_ nowhere around until he heard "satellite TV" and "200 channels". Pacey Witter, my ersatz cohort who's now flirting with a return to Slacker Mountain, is the one who dragged Dawson along…and now we have the warped makings of a Capeside episode of_ Friends,_ cold-pressed through a teen angst filter for extra dramatic content.

Tune in next week:

--- Will Dawson "Ross" Leery ever get a clue?

--- Will Jen Lindley (a "Rachel" wannabe but if she knows what's good for her, she'll happily assume the role of "Monica") ever not bed the latest high school Lothario?

--- Will Pacey "How **you** doin'?" Witter (I can't decide if he's more "Joey" or "Chandler" when it comes to his perpetual foot-in-mouth syndrome) ever stop selling himself short?

--- Will Andie née "Phoebe" McPhee ever learn that people distrust perky?

--- Most importantly, when it comes to this particular viewer, will Joey "Can I be Rachel?" Potter ever dream again?

Damn. I think I got the role-playing bit wrong. But—honestly?—I'm tired of being the smart, troubled girl from the wrong side of the creek. I want to play the heroine; I want to be the leading lady. I am most definitely not going to be that obsessive-compulsive control freak, "Monica"!

I just want to be…me. (I said that before, didn't I?)

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Sc. 1 – INT. CHRIS WOLFE'S MANSION - DOWNSTAIRS  
_**Andie opts out. "Beauty is truth, truth beauty."**_

The stage directions are complicated so I am just going to spell it all out.

Forget about 200 channels. Diversion not study is the name of the game and the first challenge for our Capeside contestants this late school night is the unscholastic _Jane_ magazine Purity Test. Round one is "innocent" enough as each of us checks out the other's reactions while we read the questions for the test aloud and write our, for the moment, guarded answers on clean white pads.

It's pretty easy for me: "Have you ever been intimately aroused by a relative?" No. "Have you ever experimented with bondage?" Gross, no. "Have you ever gotten cozy in an airplane?" Hmm. In my fantasies! But no. "Have you ever gotten cozy in a public place?" Does the Ruins count? "Have you ever gotten cozy in your parent's bed?" Dawson's bed should count…but we didn't and it doesn't. "Have you ever caught your parents having sex?" Bessie & Bodi, yes—Mom & Dad, no.

The next group of questions is more interesting, but decidedly less appropriate given our teen (lack of) maturity levels. "Have you ever named your most private of regions?" Pacey asks. I know his answer to that one! "Have you ever engaged in sexual activity with a member of the same sex?" is my question, and I betcha I'm right about what Jen's answer will be. Since the question's been asked, however, I'd have to say no; that's never been a major fantasy of mine. (Sorry.) "Have you ever engaged in sexual activity with a transvestite?" Hmm. I wonder how Chandler Muriel Bing would answer that one! LOL

Things begin to accelerate. "Have you ever paid for sex?" Dawson queries. "Does dinner count?" Chris Wolfe chimes in. Why doesn't it surprise me that he would think that way?

Question #84: "Have you ever fantasized about a friend's significant other?" Andie asks. Suddenly, the living room becomes very quiet. I have a feeling a few of us have some 'fessing up to do—though I personally do not plan to own to that one anytime soon. It doesn't count if you were too young to know what it all meant, does it?

Pacey is impatient. "Give me this," he demands, taking the magazine from Andie. "Have you ever had an affair with a friend's pet?" he chortles. "How come I get all the animal questions?" Because it's only fair, Pacey. Because it's only fair!

Okay, #100: "Have you ever been in love? If so, how many times? Give yourself a point of purity for each time." A point of purity for _every_ time? Wouldn't each time make one less pure? It would certainly make you more vulnerable, emotionally and physically.

Andie McPhee, still trying to organize that which was already out of control, compiles the final tabulation. "Chris clocked in with the least pure score of 66, Jen is a close second with 69, Joey & Dawson bring us up the scale with a matching level of 85, and I round us up with a 92," she announces. Given that this was a test where all the questions revolved around sexual experiences or fantasies, I wonder if the higher or lower score should win out. I mean, what adventurous teen wants to be seen as 100 pure?

Or even "embarrassingly pure"?

Poor Pacey. While Dawson and I launch into round 3 of our "Do you love me or not?" debate, Chris Wolfe has unmasked Pacey's very much eyes wide shut secret regarding Miss Jacobs. Unfortunately, it's a jaw-dropping surprise to Andie, who wanted to believe Pacey to be as innocent about sex as she was, I guess. But sex is never innocent, is it? It's complicated and confusing and intense. (Or so I've heard.)

To his credit, Pacey didn't lie. He answered Question #16: "Have you ever had sex with someone twice your age?" honestly. In turn, Andie would flee the Wolfe Mansion. I feel bad for her. She doesn't deserve to be drop-kicked into our twisted so-called lives.

The sexual tension downstairs inevitably repels everyone into opposite directions from each other. Obviously, the first floor hasn't been working for me so I scurry to the second floor for some uninterrupted reading time. Bawdy Medieval English Literature is calling.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Sc. 2 – INT. CHRIS WOLFE'S MANSION - UPSTAIRS  
**_Dawson's conduct unbecoming. Jealousy rears its ugly head, kisses have consequences._**

Stage direction: Joey sits down on a comfy love seat to lose herself in Chaucer and Jen enters the guest room looking for bathing suits. She soon finds several that fit; Joey looks like she wants to crawl into the furthest corner.

How's that for a metaphor? (Geez, these directions are so easy to write…I wonder why Dawson struggles with them.) Jen and I follow our scripted roles.

JEN  
"_What's the matter, Joey? You're not going to give  
into a little hot tub temptation?"_

JOEY  
_"I'm just going to study, thanks."_

Oh joy. Jen looks at me as if she expected to break the ice with such witty banter, but I'm beyond all remedies. I mean, can't I go into one friggin' room without someone following me into it?'

JEN  
"_You know, I really am sorry about you and  
Dawson. I mean, I know that you may not  
believe it but—"_

I cut her off, viewing Jen with coal black daggers in my eyes.

JOEY  
"_You know, you're right. I don't."_

And why should I? Is this girl the Jen Lindley who coached me to second place in a beauty pageant or "Buzzkill" Lindley, the girl who watched Dawson & I make out, then followed him up to his bedroom after I left and tried to seduce him? I mean, I feel bad about her grandfather dying and all, but really!

JEN  
_"Thanks, Joey. Thanks for making our  
conversation just as delightful as ever."_

Yeah, sure. Anytime you wanna decide who it is exactly I am talking to here, let me know. (Though I have to admit Jen has been decidedly hands-off Dawson ever since…she met Jack. And I don't like that either.)

JEN  
_"You know, I used to think that it was our mutual  
feelings for Dawson that kept us apart. I never  
really considered the fact that maybe you were just  
a bitch."_

Now I do feel a little contrite for my churlish comeback. A little. She called me the "b----" word, and I don't think she meant dog. I know that I've been unabashedly hard-as-nails when it comes to letting girls of the Lindley variety get close. Why is that?

Oh, great. Another unanswered question.

JOEY  
_"Look… Jen, I didn't mean to be so harsh. I…  
God! I am so sick of talking all the time. I just  
wanna follow my feelings and not think and discuss  
it. I mean, we run it into the ground and…"_

Okay, confession time. I wonder if I'm ready to share this. I stand up and the words stumble out anyway.

JOEY  
_"Don't you just wanna have something left to  
just experience?"_

When did I get to be so Chatty Cathy? And soft? But Jen's pained look soon turns into one of empathy and I am absolved. She walks toward me.

JEN  
_"As much as anyone."_

That's strange. Our eyes connect and there's a wired moment where, for the first time in months, I feel like there's an understanding between us. Eventually, however, we return to our fated roles. Jen will succumb to her need to feel wanted, even if it is for one night only—while I fight off the overwhelming feeling of being needed too badly.

Whatever. After that brief, tolerant exchange what I definitely need is some air. I venture outside to the second floor deck where—big surprise—trouble again follows. I can see Pacey and Andie having an animated talk in the garden. It doesn't look like it's going well for Pace. He walks away, shoulders bent and head bowed as if resigned to his loser's role. But then Andie soon follows after him. Perhaps all is not lost.

On the other hand, I am lost. Why did the dingbats in charge of the school curriculum ever agree to let Mr. Petersen cover everything from Shakespeare to Dickens in a single term? I don't know whether to pick up _Wuthering Heights_ or _Gulliver's Travels_ next.

Enter conflict from Stage Left. Dawson Leery provides the prerequisite distraction and, once again, we do not divert from script.

JOEY  
"_Look, no more rows tonight, Dawson. I am so  
tired, I'm actually trying to get five minutes of  
studying in." _

DAWSON  
"_Jo, I thought what we had was special." _

Okay. I didn't expect that. It's particularly frustrating to me that Dawson never seems to take my requests for privacy seriously. I need to make myself clear.

JOEY  
"_Look, I'm serious! I don't want to talk about  
anything but this." _

DAWSON  
"_You wrote that you have been in love twice." _

Ka-ching! I am speechless. Well, almost.

JOEY  
"_You looked at my test?"_

DAWSON  
"_No. No, I've learned my lesson about  
invading your personal privacy. Chris's little sister was kind  
enough to impart that information."_

Does this guy ever give up? Uh, no. And now I'm getting mad. I thought we weren't going to do this to each other. But apparently, we are.

DAWSON  
"_Joey, you said that I was your world. When did  
you have time for guy #2? I mean, I refuse to  
believe that you're shallow enough to fall in love  
with Jack after one kiss."_

Would dumbfounded be the proper reaction here? I feel like throwing my books across the deck. Maybe that would get his attention.

JOEY  
"_Look, stop it, Dawson. Just stop it."_

DAWSON  
"_Joey, I just don't understand!" _

Frankly, neither do I. I just know that I've had enough.

JOEY  
"_Look, I don't know, okay? Why can't we just go  
back to the way things were? Why can't we just be  
friends, Dawson?"_

I know that's something that guys usually say, but lately it's something I've really begun to feel.

DAWSON  
"_Is that really what you want?"_

JOEY  
"_Yes!"_

DAWSON  
"_After everything that we've been through, you just  
wanna go back to being friends?"_

Come on. It's what we were in the beginning. Maybe it was wrong to test that bond…and if Dawson were being honest, he would admit that he once felt that way too.

DAWSON  
"_Joey, if you don't understand why that can't  
happen, if you don't get that, you don't get me." _

The thing is, I do "get it". We risked the friendship and lost. Now, the only thing left to do is to exit the stage—though I'm barely out the door when I realize that I left my books behind. I turn around, only to discover that Deena Wolfe, unable to resist the adolescent impulse, overheard just enough of our fight to try and capitalize on it. An unfortunate decision on her part. She claps her hands.

DEENA  
"_Very emotional. Oscar nominating. Really."_

DAWSON  
"_Go away."_

Dawson sulks, clearly not in the mood for outside commentary. What I learn later (much later) is that it's Pacey the Mediator's challenge to Dawson to "try harder" that yields him pain instead of resolution.

DEENA  
"_Dawson, you…you aren't crying, are you?"_

Even I am not prepared for the fierceness with which my too-recent ex retaliates at his unsuspecting tormentor. (Or tormentor in absentia—who knows what he's thinking.)

DAWSON  
"_Look, you wanted a kiss—is that what you want?  
Are you prepared for everything that comes along  
with that kiss? Because it doesn't just end with a  
fade out. Alright? There are repercussions, hearts  
get broken, friendships get ruined. Your entire life  
could fall apart because of one kiss, alright? That's  
what you have to look forward to. So do yourself a  
big favor: don't rush it."_

I don't think I have ever seen Dawson like that before! It's a tirade clearly meant for me, and maybe I deserve it. But it was such an intense lashing-out instead of telling Dawson off, I follow Deena, hoping I can comfort her.

He didn't mean to be so mean, I tell her. He was simply expressing his frustration about something he couldn't control. (And I certainly know a lot about that!) But Ms. Wolfe is following a _Peter Pan_ script. "After tonight, I'm avoiding growing up at all costs," she announces.

If only that were possible. It certainly would save Dawson and Pacey and Andie and I (and Jen) a lot of heartache! "Sounds good," I commiserate with her. "Let me know if you have any luck."

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Sc. 3 – INT. CHRIS WOLFE'S MANSION – BACK DOWNSTAIRS  
_**Nearing the midnight hour. Being on the same page. Everyone falls asleep…sort of.**_

One thing I have to say about my friendship with Pacey of late is that we no longer follow the scripted confines of our former supporting roles. The only thing we expect of each other is a willing ear.

I find my friend meandering around the entryway as I retire downstairs after having successfully tucked the Deena situation away…for the moment. I'm worn out, body and soul—and Pacey seems equally down.

"You okay, Pace?" I yawn as I sit down on the stairs.

"Yeah. I'm just hangin'," he shrugs.

I listen for a moment, wondering if Andie is anywhere nearby "As much as I wasn't a fan of your previous extracurricular activities," I say in a stage whisper, "I do think you did the right thing."

"I know," he agrees.

"You didn't flinch from being honest with her—that's rather admirable, Pacey."

"That doesn't mean Andie's not hurting," he adds with some compassion as he leans against the banister. "I did kind of _bend_ the truth before…I let her believe what I thought she wanted to believe—all signs to the contrary."

"The truth does bite, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does." In a seemingly unconscious gesture, he traces his hand through my hair and it feels good. "So how about you, Jo?" he says softly. "How are _you _doin'?"

"I'm wiped," I admit, again lowering my voice. "I just never…I never thought I'd be in this place. Napalming my own fantasy. And the weird thing is—I'm still not sure why."

"You've got time," he says reassuringly. "You'll figure it out."

"I wish I were as sure. I mean, I'm the one who kept taunting Dawson, challenging him on whether or not he was prepared for everything that went along with telling the truth." I zone out momentarily. "The irony is that it turns out _I'm_ the one who wasn't ready."

"Well, so far you've avoided becoming tabloid fodder," Pacey jokes. "That's a good sign."

"So what are we now?"

Enter Andie from Stage Right. She walks by us, headed toward the sunroom; Pacey's eyes follow her.

"She's a nice girl, Pace. Wacky but nice."

He silently agrees, nodding.

I want to give him a big hug, but that doesn't seem very much like us so, getting up, I pat him on the arm instead. "It'll be okay," I tell him. I'm certain one of us will be able to get it right and, at this moment, the odds are on Pacey.

He smiles and exits. Being practical, I refocus my energies, wondering if there is any chance of reviving this study session. I poke my head into the sunroom. "Hey, Andie, I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want any?"

"Sure. I think I'll keep you company," she responds, tossing another death glare in Pacey's direction as we walk into the kitchen. "Do you even like him?" Andie asks. She obviously doesn't care if the object of her derision is within earshot.

"Who? Dawson?" I ask, somewhat surprised.

"No, Pacey. I thought you guys were supposed to be mortal enemies or something."

"Pure school myth. I blame James Cameron."

"Huh?"

"You know how it's always easier to let the guy pick the movie so that every once in awhile you can shame them into a quality chick flick?"

"Go on," Andie says. So I do.

"Well, Pacey and Dawson both love kick-ass James Cameron films, but what I've never admitted to them is that I like them, too. I mean, as a screenwriter the guy may be lacking a certain finesse," I clarify, sounding very much like a film geek, "but he still manages to introduce strong female heroines. You know, like Linda Hamilton in _The Terminator…_"

"Jamie Lee Curtis in _True Lies._"

"And let us not forget that even Rose DeWitt Bukater didn't let a designer dress stop her from saving her man!"

"Temporarily at least," Andie retorts.

"In fact, she became more courageous _after_ the ship hit the iceberg."

"And your point is?"

"When we play-acted movies as kids, I always got to be the heroine—and I loved it. Sometimes I was the damsel in distress and Dawson was the hero, but most of the time he was the filmmaker while he pitted Pacey and I against each other. Pacey played the villains; he thought they were cool and Dawson didn't."

"So your roles were scripted…almost pre-destined."

"Yes," I agree without protest. An image comes to mind and I can't help giggling as I pour both of us fresh cups of coffee. "Pacey does the best impressions. You should see him morph into liquid like that guy in _T2._"

Andie answers with a snicker. "Yeah, well recently he's made quite an impression morphing into a womanizer."

"Give him a break, Andie. He's not that guy."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" she objects.

"Look, it's not any of my business what he told you or didn't tell you. But you have to admit that it's a tough call. He had to put up with a lot of finger-pointing and some pretty despicable gossip from fellow classmates as well as their pretentious parents. That's what people do for sport in this town. He was finally getting past all of that crap when you arrived on the scene."

"Really?" she says, looking off into space. I can tell she's beginning to yield.

"Not to mention the fact that there have always been such low expectations of him within his own family," I add, stating the obvious, defining aspect of my friend's attention-deficit personality.

"Expectations of failure. Yeah, he confided a bit of that to me."

"Do you know how he got that scar on his cheek? The same way I got this one on my elbow," I continue, pointing to my right elbow. "It was a few summers ago and we were racing our bikes, trying to keep up with a train. Suddenly, I heard, 'Joey, watch out!' and Pacey scrambled ahead of me. I cursed him as I skid and fell, scraping my elbow…but what I didn't see, what he was trying to point out, was this twisted post that jutted away from the tracks. Pacey was the one who ended up running into it. He was going too fast to stop in time and he went flying into the air, falling into the rock bed around the tracks and cutting a nasty gash into his cheek."

"I can't believe that I actually used to dream about outrunning trains too and—splat!—not making it."

I scratch my head, puzzled. "Must be the over-achiever complex. Anyway, that day we both limped home with our broken bikes. But while my mom and dad were concerned, Pacey's parents got mad and chalked up another failure."

"Classic **under**achiever syndrome."

"Please don't tell him I told you. He's concocted some pretty amazing stories to explain that scar. Even Dawson doesn't know the truth."

"His best friend doesn't know?"

I cough nervously. "He was away at summer camp." And now it's time to change the subject. "That reminds me," I say, easily transitioning. "Speaking of achievement, what do you say we try and get this English Lit thing back on track?"

"Ah, a person after my own heart!" Andie laughs. "After you?"

We return to the sunroom and spread out the books. Within minutes, both of us begin drifting off. A staccato snort wakes me up—was that Andie or me? I smile as I watch Pacey wander cautiously back into the room, sprawling across the pool table to watch over Andie.

**zzzzzzzzzzz**

Sc. 4 – FLASHBACK  
**_We see images of Dawson, Pacey, Joey, Andie and Jen coming to terms. Resolving their differences of heart. _**

JOEY  
(Voice-over)  
_"…but there are those times when everything…I  
mean, love, romance, relationships, it all falls  
together perfectly and it's incredible. It's those  
moments—no matter how depressingly few and far   
between—that make growing up worth it."_

The two times I fell in love? They were both the same guy…and I still couldn't get it right. How pathetic is that? There lies the rub, as our favorite Bard, Will Shakespeare, once wrote. My problem is that 'It's not you, it's me' is so damn cliché. Dawson thought that saying "I love you" would keep me from leaving him. But it was _because_ I love him in return that I had to go out that window. I ran away because I was unsure of _my_ self, _my_ motives—not his.

Once forced to confront what's happened between us, I've been able to see what remains between us…and it's still love. I just have to figure out how to handle it.

So…

Dawson & I are officially "on break". We're in agreement about that. Whatever happens, happens. No recriminations, no more guilt, no spastic fits of jealousy. I hope. We're going to work on the friendship and go from there.

By the way, I was right: Pacey & Andie have ended up the real winners. There is a give and take between them that I'm a tad envious of. A comic repartee, a decided lack of possessiveness, and an ability to learn from mistakes…move on.

"Not forgiven," Andie says as she pulls away from a makeup kiss.

"It's a no," Pacey nudges her back.

I can't help but smile. I wonder if I could learn to be like that.


	9. Chapter 9: Counting Votes

**9. "Counting Votes"**

"Tim! Tim!"

Andie McPhee awoke with a sudden fierceness. She had had another one of those gut-wrenching dreams. The kind that made her think, half-alert yet part of her still recoiling from the nightmare, that a terrible mistake had been made. Brown wasn't dead; he couldn't be.

But he was.

She was more awake now, reality having settled on her. She was in her new bedroom in the family's Capeside summer home—not the year-round Rhode Island one, not the one with all of the provenance antiques. She refused to let her eyes fill with even a smidgeon of a tear; she must be the strong one.

At least until her dad returned.

She heard the front door close downstairs. Jack was home from his date with Joey…and from the way he bounded up the stairs, it sounded like it must have gone well. Good for him! Her baby brother deserved a little happiness.

Her mind was racing full speed now. Must focus. School. Andie had overheard some students talking about Abby Morgan and Chris Wolfe running for the class presidency. She didn't think they could possibly be serious, but they were. That seemed so wrong. It shouldn't matter how rich or attractive or popular her—dare she call them?— peers were. What could they possibly contribute to better a student's life at Capeside High? More delinquency, no doubt.

Someone had to stop them. In fact, she had half a mind to do it herself!

Well…

Why not?

Andie had plenty of ideas about the way things could be run on campus, how to improve study aids and perhaps provide a little inspiration along the way. Like music seminars at lunch, applied math for sports freaks and Shakespeare on Film afterschool detention (that one was based on a conversation with her boyfriend). And, if she could be allowed to toot her own horn for a moment, a successful bid for student office certainly would look impressive on the academic resume. Must appease those collegiate decision-makers in charge of early admissions!

The only problem was, whom could she possibly ask to be her running mate? Pacey? No, Pacey would probably think it was a joke. She didn't need that if she wanted other students to take her seriously. But if she could challenge him to help out—maybe be her campaign manager or something—his enthusiasm and networking skills could be a tremendous asset.

Then there was Dawson. No. He'd told her just yesterday that he was making another film and could be tied up for weeks, months.

There was a girl in her French class who…

Wait a minute. What about Joey Potter? Mid-term class standings had shown her to be in the über-stellar top ten of their class, above Kenny Reiling and just a notch below Andie. Andie had known she was smart—she had proven that at their failed study-thon a couple of weeks before—but not _that_ smart. In fact, with her near fulltime work at The Ice House, Joey never seemed to have much time to do anything more than perfunctory lessons.

Yet she managed to excel, almost as if she thrived on adversity. That was a plus. Andie had seen plenty of evidence in class that Joey's teachers considered her a standout; even her monied peers gave her begrudging respect. They certainly stayed out of her way! That could be another plus.

Jack had told Andie admiringly about how well organized Joey always seemed to be, how varied her interests, how talented she was in art as well as academics—and, most importantly, how this 15 year-old from the fabled wrong side of the tracks actually ran the family business when her sister was occupied with her baby. No matter what challenges she seemed to face, she really took charge of the situation—yet another plus; she didn't let life's circumstances defeat her.

In that respect, Joey Potter was decidedly ambitious. She was driven to use her intelligence to negotiate an exit from the lowlands of the Cape. Could Andie help her turn that into a determination to make a difference? In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it would be a good idea to get Joey on _her_ side—cut her off at the proverbial pass before she decided to run for class president herself.

Heroes are made not born, Andie had told Pacey a few days earlier. Perhaps a Girl Power Duo was exactly what Capeside High needed: New leaders for the new millennium. Time for Team Andie to rise up and wave the pink banner!

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Joey pulled her hair back into a half-knot, not caring if all the pieces were in place. Smudged, day-old mascara completed the picture. She had overslept and she was late, again. Though business was slow this time of year (yet another worry), the combination of working more evenings at the Ice House while Bessie tended to Alexander, then trying to study during the breaks between customers was playing real havoc with her ability to get a decent night's sleep.

Not to mention getting to school on time. The vice principal had called her into the office the previous week and she was sure she was going to be lectured about the times she had been caught dozing during study hall—but it was only to ask if she would be interested in making some extra money as a tutor. The money would be great…the extra hours, not so much.

She trotted the final stretch to Capeside High wondering why she'd never invested in a pair of sunglasses to hide sleepy, still-struggling-to-focus eyes. Who really cared if people thought she was trying to be cool? Except that she did care. She cared too much sometimes, and that really bothered her.

"Hey Joey!" a shrill voice blared. "I was hoping I'd see you today. I mean, I see you everyday but this is different." It was rambling Andie McPhee.

"It's 7am," Joey responded reasonably. "Cheer down."

Andie smiled with determined good nature. Despite Joey's predisposition toward making snarky comments, she resisted the urge to come down too hard on her. Andie was an easy target, but she was sincere, genuine and, Joey suspected, more than a little bit vulnerable; she liked her.

But she was seriously deluded if she thought her latest epiphany—joining forces to preside over their sophomore class—had any chance of becoming a reality.

"Maybe you haven't heard, Andie, but I'm not exactly Miss Congeniality of Capeside, okay? Adding my name to your ticket would only assure you a loss," Joey informed her, regretting that she had to state the obvious. It was too early in the morning for this. "Everybody knows my sordid family history," she added.

The Capeside newbie disagreed, claiming that such history was long ago forgotten by their attention-deficit peers. "You've got a clean slate," she insisted.

Joey Potter knew better. Perhaps her fellow students had moved on, but their parents hadn't. They remembered. It had been two long years and Joey was still trying to figure out how to handle their wary condescension and the guilty way these "concerned citizens" made her feel. The beauty pageant had been a vivid reminder that her family story was still very much alive—and the best way to deal with _that_ was not to put herself out there for public scrutiny.

So she thanked Andie for thinking of her and said no, scurrying down the hall only to bump into Jack.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied, grinning as he recalled their most recent tryst. "I missed you last night."

Joey smiled. Sometimes things were just easy like this, and that was nice. She brushed her hand against his. He moved his other hand to her unkempt hair, tenderly moving a stray tendril back into place and readjusting the loose knot.

"You're hopeless," he chuckled.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"What sane person would want to waste their time on school politics when they could be spending oodles of quality time with me?" Pacey asked his girlfriend.

This latest idea of Andie's seemed to come out of left field. Studying together at the family domicile, where innocent intimacies were easily exchanged, was one thing. But Pacey hadn't expected that the concept of spending "quality time together" would include a student council campaign. He was talking about nuzzling, making out; she was talking about writing speeches, painting signs.

Pacey grabbed a bowl of square-cut red Jello and put it on his cafeteria tray. Red was good, he thought as he sat down next to Andie. Red was his heart, passion…and _that_ was decidedly not square-cut.

He looked up and saw Joey and Jack coming their way. But Joey made a last-minute detour and sat at a table on the other side of the aisle. What was that about?

Pacey wasn't sure what he thought about the Potter-McPhee co-mingling. Did he like them as a couple? Hell, he wasn't even sure what he thought about seeing them hold hands. One thing he did like? That Joey seemed more confident and less tense these days—just a little, but still it was a positive sign.

Everyone seemed to be going their own way now. Dawson was back in fantasyland, mapping out his latest cinematic masterpiece with his new co-producer, Jen Lindley. Joey was into art and Jack. And Pacey had Andie. They were all moving on.

That was a good thing, right?

"She's got my little brother wrapped. around. her. finger," Andie observed, watching her boyfriend watching the couple across the way.

Pacey turned his attention back to his girl. "She doesn't even know."

"Doesn't know?"

"No. She has no idea of the power she holds. Look at the way she averts her eyes. She's totally oblivious to it."

Andie raised a discerning eyebrow as she gave Joey a quick once-over. "Huh," she said, almost disbelieving. On her better days, Joey Potter looked like something straight off a runway. She was the girl next door with a brooding, sarcastic twist. How could she _not_ know what an impact that made on others?

Yet Andie didn't think twice about it, her mood turning to playful as she leaned in to brush her lips lightly across Pacey's earlobe. "Perhaps she's afraid of testing her own sexuality," she said invitingly. "Her definition of love seems pretty much rooted in Jane Austen."

"Yes. The forbidden, though honorable, spending years in denial kind of love. And what about you, Miss McPhee?" Pacey growled in response to Andie's teasing.

"What about me?" Andie retorted in faux innocence.

"Are you ready to test **your **power?" Andie looked at him blankly. "Over the 10th grade vassals at Capeside High?"

"_Absolutment!_"

Pacey stood up with his tray in hand. "Then I think we have some information to reconnoiter," he said, offering his arm.

Andie put her arm in his, making a mental note to have a talk with Jack about Joey. Someone needed to convince her that 1998 was the right time for McPhee & Potter.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Jack's jaw dropped in stunned bemusement.

"Tell Andie I'm in," Joey announced after making a Medusa-like wetsuit out of a snarling Abby Morgan. She put down the empty water pitcher and went into the kitchen to begin closing out.

Jack ceremoniously locked the Ice House door with great relish as Abby and Chris Wolfe slithered out of the restaurant. Wow, he thought, Ms. Potter really had that anger thing working for her!

Joey's change of course inspired him to consider a rush home to announce the good news. But the bus was late and Jack was immediately sidetracked upon walking into the house. His mother had torn apart the kitchen trying to put together some goodies for the anticipated arrival of Tim and his college buddies. When Andie told her they weren't coming, Mrs. McPhee had barricaded herself in her bedroom, refusing to coming out.

Things were getting worse—too much for two teens to deal with on their own. Yet, like Joey, they soldiered on, having no choice but to rise to the occasion and deal with the situation as best they could.

Jack calmed his mother down and put her to bed while Pacey spoke with Andie. Student Council could wait until morning.

**zzzzz**

**POTTER CONVICTED ON **

**DRUG-DEALING CHARGES**

Next Stop, Capeside High?

**zzzzz**

As she predicted, Joey Potter was the early target of an "anonymous" smear campaign, though it wasn't hard to figure out where the money and materials came from. No sooner had Joey said yes than the flyers featuring newspaper stories about her dad's sensational trial were distributed all over campus. In bathrooms, on bulletin boards, stuffed in books—even the Minuteman statue on the commons was seen defiantly holding one. Joey was steamed, and immediately defensive. Yet another humiliation, she brooded. She hated the idea that her cynicism was proven right once again. It was almost more than she could tolerate.

This time, however, she was determined to fight back. She reconsidered her early reticence and determined that she and Andie had a decent shot at the student council top spots—good enough to be taken seriously, and serious enough to get people to listen. Winning wasn't even the point; trying was. At the very least, her peers would have to pay attention to the girl their parents had written off as little more than white trash three years back.

She tugged another yellow flyer loose from the staples that bound it to a post, crumpling the paper with defiance as she continued walking. And brooding. What was that ad line from _Jaws: The Revenge?_ "This time, it's personal." How could she let such malicious character attacks go unchallenged? Looking up, she spotted Andie and Pacey at their pre-designated meeting place off campus and headed straight towards them. Just in time, from what she could see—unless one considered canoodling part of the campaign strategy. She was going to have to talk to Pacey about that!

Joey cleared her throat as she sat down at the picnic table, allowing a respectable distance between herself and the cooing couple. "Did you get a glimpse of Chris and Abby's smear campaign?" she charged. "This is exactly what I was worried about."

"Why?" Pacey queried back. "We'll just hit them back harder. There's a whole chapter in my book on mudslinging."

Pacey Witter was reading a book? Joey smirked in silence. Would wonders never cease.

"No, we are not stooping to their lows," said Andie. "Government is about balance and order. We cannot let their petty ways usurp us."

"That's another good one! I should be writing this stuff down," Pacey replied, grinning with almost dopey admiration.

Joey eyed her friend curiously. "Don't you think we should at least fight back?" she said, hoping that his delirium wasn't contagious.

"And let Chris and Abby and the whole school know that we respond in an emotional, knee-jerk fashion? It's not a good signal to be sending out to our voting constituents." Andie was nothing if not logical.

"Okay. Forget fighting. But I think we should stand up for ourselves. I mean…"

"Look, Joey, I know they got you, but let's not let them get the best of us," Andie reasoned. "Those were just words. They carry no weight whatsoever. Let's just look at our debate issues and figure out our game plan. Winning will be our best revenge."

Joey thought her running mate resorted too easily to clichés, but Pacey's smile got even brighter. "She won my vote a few bumper stickers ago," he announced in support, not noticing as Joey crossed her arms and slumped down, separating herself from the scene.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

The speeches had gone brilliantly. Both Andie and Joey stayed on point in the school assembly, refusing to respond in kind to backhanded snipes. Pacey sat in the audience, proud to be associated with both girls…no, women. He was going to have to remember that. They were becoming women right before his very eyes. Tall, sleek, commanding…women. His heart was filled with pride in both.

When Abby Morgan got more direct with her accusations about closet skeletons, Joey not only stood her ground but also deflected the zinger thrown in Andie's direction. Pacey sat up straight, motioning to Andie to let the heartless rapport slide…but Andie suddenly lost her nerve and crumbled. Unable to voice a response, she ran out of the assembly in distress. Joey looked to Pacey, concerned for both friends. Pacey rose quickly, his heart breaking just a little bit; without hesitation, he walked out of the gym, hoping he could find Andie before she disappeared entirely.

Joey went off point. "Tit for tat, Abby. What exactly bothers you most about Andie and I running for council president? Why make it so personal?"

"Because it is."

"Why?" Joey persisted.

"Why let the bums rule?" her nemesis snapped back. There was a murmur in the student audience and Abby was momentarily thrown off. "I mean, you don't…"

"Belong. You see, that's exactly what Andie and I are standing up for: the students who feel they don't belong. The quiet ones, the forgotten ones…the students you think don't matter. But they do. It's about _inclusion,_ Abby, about making everyone count. Or did you skip that page in your Miss Popularity primer?"

The applause started meekly in the back of the stands, then rumbled in waves through the rows of vaguely engaged participants, growing to its loudest as the guidance counselor, Mr. Rukavina, dismissed the assembly. The students scattered quickly and Joey rushed off to find Jack.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Finding Jack. Apparently, finding Jack wasn't the problem—_talking_ to Jack was. For the first time since Joey had known him, Jack showed true anger and confusion, effectively put a wall between them and obliterating any offers of help. Joey walked away in defeat, wondering why everything she seemed to touch lately turned to crap.

She turned to walk along the waterfront, as she often did when she felt restless. What just happened anyway? She was starting to think that she had been wrong at the beginning of the school year. She should have gone to Paris.

"Hey, Potter."

Joey looked up quickly to see Pacey pulling over to the other side of the road in his father's Wagoneer. "Oh. Hi, Pace."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of gray, eh?"

Joey crossed the street. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. She scared me for a moment there, but she bounced back later. Yeah. I think she's going to be…fine."

Pacey sounded less than convincing, but Joey didn't question it, knowing somehow that _he_ needed to believe it.

"It was a low blow, even for Abby Morgan," she commiserated. "I had a few choice words for her later."

"You did?" Pacey queried, his expression lightening with the thought of Joey Potter giving Abby—or anyone, for that matter—a piece of her mind. "Damn! And I missed the lauded comeback of the Potter wrath!"

"It was not a pretty sight," Joey laughed. "Mr. Rukavina almost had to pull the pint-sized Vampira-wannabe off me in the hallway! The witch couldn't resist going for a very literal, jugular vein." She leaned against the side mirror and paused, adding softly. "Of course, we _both_ had to back off when a certain 'D' word was mentioned."

"Domino's?"

"No, detention, doofus!"

"Hey, that's two 'D' words…" Pacey quipped.

"Whatever. Either way, it spelled a world of trouble for Ms. Morgan."

"I'm proud of ya, Potter. You have certainly won my vote." And admiration, he thought. "Hey, wanna ride home?"

"Pacey, I live two blocks from here."

"I know, but it's still light out and I thought I'd take a drive and enjoy this weird, very late Indian summer. You know, luxuriate in it while we still can have the windows rolled down."

"There's a ten dollar word for you."

"Come on, Potter!"

Joey mulled it over for a moment. "Wouldn't this be a more appropriate activity to do with your _girlfriend_?" she asked.

"I wanted her to," Pacey admitted, "but she begged off. She was exhausted."

Joey instantly felt bad for reminding him of the day's sordid events. "Maybe she wanted to prepare for tomorrow's presentation," she added on a positive note.

"Probably."

"Okay," she acquiesced. "But I have to be home by 9 o'clock."

"Done!"

Pacey looked in the rear-view mirror as Joey went around to the passenger side of the Wagoneer, smiling to himself as he remembered his previous view of Joey in a similar mirror. He couldn't help but think how alike Joey and Andie were—and yet how different, especially in their contrasting temperament in tackling adversity. Joey faced life straight on, even if it hurt, finding challenge in the conflict and strength somehow (he guessed it must be the peculiar Potter gene pool) to continue forward. He imagined what a tremendous asset that would be for Dawson when, inevitably, the couple got back together and set about their lives and careers. Would Dawson appreciate the woman, the person she had become? If current history was taken into account, it appeared his clueless friend was as big a question mark as ever.

As for Joey's feelings about Dawson_,_ well…he really couldn't read her on that one. But she did seem more excited by the opportunities presented to her these Dawson-free days.

Joey waved her hand in front of Pacey's face. "Earth to Pacey. Hello?"

"Huh?"

"Where did you go just now?"

"Nowhere," Pacey said, shifting the Wagoneer into gear and peeling the new all-weather tires across the asphalt road. "Yowsa!" he whooped. "This is it, sports fans. We are revved up, warmed up and we're outta here!"

Joey rolled her eyes. "Just keep the car on the road, Pace."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Pacey switched the engine off and steered the Wagoneer quietly into the elongated driveway outside the McPhee family home. The lights downstairs were out, but he could see a dim reading light illuminating Andie's room. Perhaps she was still up.

He climbed up the trellis, grateful that the roses had been cut back for the winter. Looking in the window, however, he could see Andie asleep with her textbooks and papers spread out at the end of bed. He tapped on the window, wincing a bit when he saw her fidget in her sleep. Without another moment's thought, he pushed the window open and climbed in, carefully moving the books aside to snuggle next to his girlfriend.

"Pacey?" Andie mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Shhh…shhhh," he comforted her.

"Did you know that it's exactly 60 feet 6 inches from the pitching mound to home plate?" she said groggily.

"Yeah, McPhee. You told me that."

"Tim…"

"Shhh," he whispered, running the fingers of his right hand gently through her hair. "Go back to sleep."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"_I used to really hate you, you know."_

"_Used to?" he smirked._

"_I mean __**really**__ hate you," she said. Clearly, a world of difference was contained in that distinction. She paused, looking at him from the passenger's seat with the slightest beginnings of smile informing the corners of her mouth. "As opposed to the mild contempt I currently feel," she clarified._

_Pacey laughed, but Joey remained in her more serious mode._

"_When your dad busted mine for drugs I thought he was wrong and on some weird kind of vendetta to get back at Dad for getting involved with the town floozy. I didn't know she was the one who set him up with those scumbags in the first place."_

_Pacey just nodded, knowing his commentary at this point was irrelevant—especially if Joey was in a confiding mood._

"_It was that woman pressuring him about money that led to his arrest. She wanted him to support __her__, didn't care at all that he had a sick wife and kids to worry about. Sometimes I get worried that I'm too much like my dad."_

"_Why would you ever think that?" Pacey asked, not hiding his incredulity._

"_I look at my relationship with Dawson and I see myself seeking the same kind of easy comfort…"_

"_Easy?"_

"…_and I don't ever want it to be about that. You know, just some physical thing. I think that's what I like about Jack. He doesn't know my trashy history, but he seems to, I don't know, intuit things…__feel__ them_ _before I even have to say anything. And what he's going through right now? I can't even imagine…"_

"_Yes you can."_

_Joey took a deep breath. "Yes, I guess I can. That's what makes it so scary." _

_Pacey didn't have to look at her to know that her eyes were darting back and forth as she thought through the day's events. "You really like this guy."_

"_Yeah. I think I do, and I don't know what to do about it. I always screw things up," she said, looking out the passenger window at nothing in particular._

"_Just be there for him. You know guys. We don't have that same compulsion to share everything, but if Jack wants to talk I'm sure he'll let you know. Whoa!"_

_Joey looked up suddenly to see a mama raccoon scampering across the road in pursuit of her little ones._

"_Don't swerve," she exclaimed._

"_Potter, I've got it under control," he assured her, calmly steering straight on as if there were never any doubt the raccoons would make it across._

_Joey smiled._

"_Told ya," Pacey said matter-of-factly. He couldn't help but notice that his friend's smile had broadened, seeming as luminescent as the stars in the sky overhead. He liked it when his dark and serious childhood pal showed that she had a lighter, brighter side._

"_Pacey, you're zoning out again."_

"_No, I'm not," he insisted. "You were talking about the North Star."_

"_Actually, I was talking about that light on the horizon. I think it's Jupiter. Jack told me it would be especially bright tonight." _

"_Andie said the same thing before I left," Pacey added in bemusement._

"_The Weather Channel," Joey noted._

"_Ding ding ding! Ms. Potter," Pacey laughed. "Another quirky pastime at the McPhee household."_

"_Ah—but those quirks are what makes Andie & Jack so compelling," Joey added._

"_That it does, Jo. That it certainly does."_

_They rode the rest of the way home in silence, just admiring the night sky…and the quiet. Joey had never thought about Pacey being the kind of guy who could appreciate these leisurely moments, but the more she saw him since he had become involved with Andie McPhee, the more she was surprised—and rather pleasantly, if she dared to say so—by the man he was becoming. It bespoke of a maturity and depth she had rarely given him credit for. She would deny it to her dying breath, but she liked it._

_Joey turned back to look straight ahead as the Wagoneer pulled down the dirt and gravel road leading to her house._

"_Thanks for the ride, Pace," she said, putting her hand reassuringly on his arm. "And the encouragement. You take your own advice as well, eh? Go on—go take care of your girl. You know you want to."_

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Pacey snuggled closer, lightly kissing Andie's exposed neck and shoulder. His fingers skated along Andie's arm, delicately tracing a very private declaration of his support for his beleaguered girlfriend. Three simple symbols: **I * Heart ***** U**

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Joey hurried her pace as she saw the front doors of the high school closing. She didn't want to be late for first bell. This morning was the all-important candidate statements over the school's intercom system. She jogged around the corner, turning down the corridor where the sophomore lockers were. She almost ran into Dawson.

"Oh, Dawson!" she said, startled. "Sorry. I um…"

"Guess neither one of us was looking where we were going, Joey," Dawson said in a noncommittal tone. "I'm on my way to set up for auditions and I uh…I…"

Joey looked at him hopefully.

"I just wanted to wish you luck this morning—and tomorrow—on the elections and everything."

"Thanks, Dawson."

"Yeah. Well…See ya later, Jo."

Joey put on her best 'we'll always be friends' smile and continued walking to her locker. She grabbed her bullet points along with the books for her first two classes, dutifully hanging her backpack inside the locker and closing the door with determination. The first bell rang and Joey took a deep breath to gather courage. Across the way, she observed Pacey with his hands on Andie's shoulders, positioning himself so he could look straight into her eyes. Joey couldn't hear his exact words of encouragement, but whatever he said had Andie nodding and smiling and _that_ seemed to be a good sign. Apparently, a few words and a reassuring touch were all that was required to nullify Andie McPhee's jitters.

Was it possible for things to be that simple? Because, in Joey's experience, the nerves intensified over time—and with the knowledge that in the past she had increasingly come to rely on one person to fix things for her. But that person was just as confused as she was and, unfortunately, no longer able to offer support without conditions. Now she realized the fix was an inside job. Nothing else made sense without her fixing herself first. Right now, she was a work in progress…not such a bad thing, but definitely (and infinitely) complicated.

"Oh, Joey! Do you have your notes for the speech? Good. I heard what you did yesterday after my rather dramatic departure, and I appreciate it. Really. Today is going to be our time to shine," Andie enthused. "I absolutely feel it."

"That's great, McPhee," Pacey jumped in, crooking his arms so both women could entwine their arms with his. "Shall we?"

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Pacey had hoped Andie would sweep the alleged "McPhee family scandal" under the proverbial carpet by confronting Abby Morgan and Chris Wolfe with their own, very severe misfailings. But, once again, Andie faltered. This time, her campaign manager-slash-party of one support staff stepped up to the mic to challenge her would-be annihilator.

"So what's the deal here?" he asked Abby. "Why are you slumming as vice-president for that guy when you are so obviously the brains behind this campaign?"

Abby sat back down at the table with Pacey, basking in a triumphant moment of ego gratification. "I'll let you in on a little secret there, sport. I'm just using that walking penis for his popularity. Ultimately, I will destroy him," she snickered. "Just like I destroyed your little girlfriend. It's just so easy! And victory's so much sweeter when you have to walk on other people to get it."

Abby's evil laugh reverberated throughout the school hallways.

"I'm going to rule this school," she declared, "and you and all those other halfwits are too stupid to stop me."

Pacey let her words sink in for a moment. "Yeah, you're probably right," he said. "I mean, I'm so stupid that I didn't know that when I pressed this button on this little thing that your annoying nasal whine was broadcast over this entire school." He paused dramatically. "Oh, no, wait a minute. That's _exactly_ what I meant to do. Sorry, my bad!" He stood up and gave a victorious high-five to Kenny Reiling. "School's yours, pal."

Teachers struggled to gain control of their classes, but conceded the moment of celebration to the no longer silent majority.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side. Ever," Dawson said as Pacey exited the principal's office. The pair walked down the hallway, standing tall among their fellow sophomores. A few junior and senior pals also expressed their admiration, giving curious coded handshakes to Pacey as Dawson stood proudly by. "What you did? Dude, that was a singular moment of awesome!"

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Tim! Tim!"

Andie cried uncontrollably. Feelings of being overwhelmed came on in dark waves, and she just couldn't seem to shake _that dream. _ It had become that familiar to her: that dream. Her older brother was dead, her father was gone and her mother was absent in mind as well as spirit. Things were spiraling faster and faster downward.

The past two months she had felt the happiest that she had been in ages, and it was Pacey Witter who made her happy. His faith had banished the demons, temporarily. But it wasn't within his power to keep her happy. It wasn't his fault. She was starting to crash and she knew what the next step was.

"I really think you need to go back to Dr. Clancy," Jack said, handing his sister a glass of water along with the medication he knew was in her bathroom cabinet.

Andie grimaced. "No, I already took sleep medication, Jack."

"This is for anxiety."

"Tomorrow," she promised. "I'll call in the morning." Jack looked at his sister with concern. Andie forced herself to offer the hint of a smile. "Cross my heart. I will be right back on track tomorrow." She took the glass of water and sipped from it. "I'm sorry I woke you up, little brother. Why don't you go back to bed and dream about how you can make it up to your girl."

"I already did."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I walked her home and we talked about it—or rather didn't talk, but it was strangely comforting. Joey's one of those people who can say a lot without saying very much at all."

"I kinda noticed that," Andie chuckled lightly. Jack was reassured to see his sister slip into girly mode. "I'm going to have to ask her to share some secrets with me."

"I don't think she knows herself," Jack admitted. "But if you get her to share, please let me know."

"What? And ruin the illusion of mysteries and mirrors? No way!"

Jack smiled and turned back toward his bedroom. "Nite, Andie."

"Good night, sleep tight," Andie said automatically, echoing the words her mother had put her to bed with as a child. Though once comforting, those words felt hollow now.

Her hand drifted across the quilted duvet cover as she vaguely recalled the impression of Pacey lying near her…warming her, sheltering her. As long as she was within his physical presence, she felt safe with him.

Why couldn't she feel that way all the time?


End file.
